


The Siren's Call

by WhiskyTangoFoxtrot



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fic within a Fic, Multi, Song fic because it is, Sweet maker what have I done?, Take away the pen when I'm in my cups, Wait there's a plot?, Yes I ship cassaric, You can skip chapter 6, You try writing and wrangling a toddler, alcohol use, other stuff dunno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 97,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3641220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskyTangoFoxtrot/pseuds/WhiskyTangoFoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Previously titled "The Naughty Dowager Presents." </p><p>Two new chapters this time, and we March headlong into full on story mode. Enjoy, gentle reader.</p><p>31 October 2015</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blight's Redemption, and other matters

Cassandra's favorite time at Skyhold, of the whole day, was just after Firsts. She would already have run all the way around the ramparts of the keep, already beaten the shit out of a few hapless training dummies, already washed and changed back into her armor. Then, as the bells rang, she would sit, quill in hand, and indulge herself in penning the smuttiest smut ever published in The Randy Dowager's Quarterly. She reread the passage she was working on.

\---

 

_Merrick strides into the room and slams his bow on the table. Philippa jumps and whirls away from the window. Merrill is still walking towards her. Without a word, he stomps up to her and looks up into her eyes. She knows he is angry; he does not take kindly to losing, and is... suspicious about how she won the contract for the life of the Arl. Her eyes flash as he crosses the room, and she juts out her strong chin as she says his name. She is tall, for a human female, but likewise he is tall for a dwarf, so when their eyes meet she still has an advantage, especially as he nears her. He grunts as he stops in front of her._

_She backs away a bit, finding herself against the wall, between the two sets of glass doors, that lead out to a balcony. She is comforted that the doors are open. The way she has been playing the sweet innocent princess to (and also generously tipping) the innkeeper means that a single scream will bring all his toughs down on Merrick's head. She tilts her head to the right and her obsidian braid nestles itself between her breasts. Her bright blue eyes bore into his. She smiles and says. "You lost."_

_"You stole that contract out from under me. I have been working that Baron for weeks, trying to get this job. And you show up and get it in three days." He moves even closer, putting his hands on the door frames, trapping her between the wall, his strong arms, and his body. Phillippa's head falls back as her laughter peals through the bedchamber. "I convinced him I wanted a tumble after I slit the Arl's throat for him."_

_Merrick's eyes narrow. "You really did, didn't you?" Closer. There was barely an inch between their bodies. She moves, trying to muscle away, using her height advantage, but instead he grabs her hands and pins them at the elbows to the wall. She smirks, and he feels something low in his belly tighten. "Jealous?" She asks, defiant. She grabs his biceps, trying to push him away, but he gracefully spins, and somehow twists her wrists behind her back. She gasps as he pulls her from the windows, grinding himself against her and she feels him, hard and huge, pressed against the back of her thigh. "I guess you are."_

\----

The bell rang for Second, and it was time for breakfast. Cassandra dusted the parchment with ashes to dry the ink, happy with her perfect copy of the page. She dumped the ashes back into the cold fireplace, opened her lockbox and dropped the page on top. After securing the lid she left her room above the smithy, heading to the kitchens to grab a plate of eggs and ham, and a mug of pitch black tea. Her armor glinted in the sunlight while she walked over to her corner of the courtyard and sat down.

Munching contentedly, she watched as Iron Bull sparred with Blackwall. The two men circled each other, both holding practice swords and heavy shields, and feinted and parried and ran at each other like mountain rams. The Bull dug his feet into the dirt as Blackwall pressed his shield, using his legs to push the Qunari back, both digging rivulets in the ground. Bull grinned and dropped to his back, kicking the smaller man's feet out, so he collapsed in a heap. Blackwall landed on his face with a loud thump on top of Bull. Cassandra rolled her eyes, even as Blackwall started laughing. Of all people, Cassandra would not have expected those two to be friends. But it was much the same with them as it was with her and Bull; he was welcome to flirt but nothing else. The Grey Warden helped the mercenary up, and they wandered off to the tavern.

\---

__

__

_He pulls, no he drags her over to the desk, one hand holding both of hers and the other gripped firmly in her hair. She is still bent over, her head pulled back, and he grinds his cock against her as she is forced to move in front of him. Five steps to the desk, and he is reaching for the hem of her skirt. He pushes it up over her waist and pushes her head, still holding her hair, over the northwest corner. His member surges against her leg, and she whimpers, finally assenting to the passion building between them, and he gently moves her hands, putting her palms on the red velvet seat of the chair. "Stay there." He says, and her breath catches as he drops to his knees, rising up between her legs. He pushes one up on to the desk, tears off her smalls, captures her core between his lips. She bucks and moans his name, fingers kneading the cushion as he just ravishes her with his mouth, his teeth, his tongue._

_Her orgasm breaks and she keens, positively sings, his name while pleasure drums through her blood and she shakes, legs giving out. She rolls onto her back, scooting up the desk and beckoning him forward. It is not long before he is driving into her, and she is whimpering and begging him not to stop. Maker, they are still dressed but he is finally inside her and he is undone as he realizes how grateful he is for her, challenging him as she does, and it only makes him thrust harder. She cries out and tightens around him, dragging him down and pulling him up into a shining white groaning release._

\-----

Varric perused the latest issue of RDQ and cursed himself for wasting coin on schlock. The magazine had a slew of contributors, from a few who could have written Hard in Hightown 3, to a few who were possibly gifted, like this tale everyone was hooked on, "Blight's Redemption." It was the longest running currently published tale in any periodical in Thedas, and it had as many twists and turns as a mountain stream. Characters came and went, fell in and out of love, had children, grew apart, came together. And oh how they came together. The funny thing was.... .

..no one knew who wrote this. The Randy Dowager's Quarterly sold literally thousands of copies, every three months. People snatched them up, from Tevinter to the Free Marches. They were especially popular in Orlais, where they sold as well ( sometimes better) than Varric's works. To his chagrin, it was because of the pure delicious vice of the story, and the mystery behind the author. People said, if you gathered every page, every chapter of "Blight's Redemption," it would take a year to finish, and you would not be able to stop. It was inexorable. That word reminded him of the Seeker.

_Wait._

_You stop it, brain._

Varric closed the magazine and put it on his desk next to his new draft of Swords and Shields. Chuckling ruefully, he headed down to the kitchen for breakfast. Maybe some food would help his writers' block. He passed through the courtyard, waved at Bull and Blackwall, and strode into the kitchen. The smells of breakfast practically attacked his nose. His stomach rumbled loudly, and the pretty Dwarven serving girl, Elise, heard it and turned to him, smiling. "Good morning, Ser Tethras." She hobbled over to him and handed him a plate and a mug and he rolled his eyes at how she was walking. It meant Bull had gotten to her, probably a few times, and certainly last night. "Good morning," he replied. Varric was a bit disappointed that Bull had managed to bed the girl he had his eye on. There was a shortage of cute Dwarven girls around, and of course they all liked The Iron Bull. He thanked her for the food, made some small talk, and retreated to the Great Hall to eat.

\---

Leliana waved as she passed him on her way out of the keep proper, holding a few envelopes. She continued down the stairs, smiling and waving at Skyhold's residents as she passed them by. The sun shone brightly, and a cool breeze blew through the air. Her hood was pulled up over her bright red hair and she approached Cassandra, who had an empty plate on the ground next to her. The Seeker was drinking tea and reading a dog-eared book.

"Hello, Cassandra!" Leliana said brightly.

The other woman closed her book and looked up, smiling at her old friend. "Good morning." Cassandra replied. "What brings you out of the office this morning?"

"Fresh air, mail for you." The spymaster smiled. "Bit of gossip."

"Well please, share." Cassandra grinned. If it came from Leliana, it was always good. "I was standing outside on the battlements yesterday, waiting for a raven with Josie. I was getting bored waiting for it, so we were playing I spy with my spyglass. And guess what we saw?" Leliana was positively giddy. "You'll never guess."

"Well? Leliana, come on!" Now the seeker was really curious.

"I saw the Commander kiss Inquisitor Trevelyan." Leliana smirked. She lowered her voice and leaned closer to her friend. "You should put that in your story."

When Cassandra sold her first draft to the magazine, it was Leliana who set up the account at the vaults in Val Royeaux, Leliana who encouraged her to keep writing, and who eventually helped to manage the growing small fortune the Seeker had accumulated from her writing these past few years. The woman churned out a long chapter every three months like clockwork, and still managed to train and help save the world.

"I think not. I thought the bearded chevalier a better match for my Lorelai." Cassandra grinned. "Besides, I cannot have things follow us too closely. I do not wish the entire Inquisition to figure out what I do with my spare time. Now, details. I want to hear everything you saw."

"Let me think, where to begin?" Leliana stalled. Cassandra punched her on the arm and they laughed. Then there was gossip.

\---

"Thank you! I wonder if I have time to read the first part." Cassandra sat down on the stump and thumbed open the folio Varric gave her, the new volume of Swords and Shields he wrote at Trevelyan's request. It was not lost on her, this gesture of the Dwarf's. And she admitted that she had reacted... Horribly... to Hawke's appearance at Skyhold. It came as a surprise to her that Varric would agree to write this for her. It seemed she had given him too little credit. She snorted at the irony of the thought, and then got lost in her new book.

Varric and Trevelyan left, chatting, but she was not listening. Hours went by, she got lunch, she read, she got dinner, she read. She retired to her quarters, and read some more. She finally crawled into bed as her last candle gutted out.

The next morning Leliana sent correspondence with one of her runners. With it, a statement of funds from the vaults in Val Royeaux. Her eyes widened as she looked at the latest deposit. A note from the Spymaster, saying that some of the deposit was a forward on the next two chapters, as The Randy Dowager's Quarterly planned to use them to 'bookend' their annual hardcover edition, using one chapter to start, and the other to finish the periodical. Her time frame was the same as one chapter though, thus the larger payment. The runner, she thought his name was Jim?, waited patiently as she composed a quick reply.

_L._

_Bad timing. Facing down giant stack of paperwork relating to day to day management of forces._

_Ask Inq. if she pleases to take Ser Blackwall along to Emerald Graves so I can catch up on everything._

_While they are gone I can get it all done._

_C._

Jim left with her note, then Cassandra poured herself a cup of tea from the pitcher, sat down at her desk, and began to sort requisition forms. It was boring work, really, but necessary, and Trevelyan trusted her to organize these, to take care of the silly loose ends and details of managing a large force. She remembered telling Trevelyan once what the Right Hand of the Divine did. Lately, she spent as much time beckoning and sorting as she did making a fist. She signed off on repairing the boats salvaged from the Storm Coast, and authorized a shipment of ore to Orzammar.

She thanked Andraste as she worked, because what she did was important, not just to the world, but to her personally. She was committed to making Thedas a better place and would pay any cost to further that goal. But, precious Maker, the greatest gift the Inquisition gave her was time. Time to explore the heart she neglected while serving the Chantry. Time to spar, time to laugh, time to read. She smiled as she remembered that she spent an entire day, just reading, then smiled wider as she realized she did not feel in the least guilty about it.

She attacked the reports with more vigor, and decided she would go to the ring after lunch, if Trevelyan agreed to let her stay behind this time.

\---

Cassandra took her lunch in the main hall, seated with Lace Harding and Dorian, of all people. The Inquisitor chuckled as she realized they were trying to bribe her to get her to loan them her new book, when she was done with it. Trevelyan arrived at the table and stood to listen. ".....the smuttiest novels in all of Tevinter. Venus in Furs." Dorian said. 

"Read it." Cassandra said smugly.

"Capturing Carlotta."

"Read it."

"Busty Belinda and the Bravado Brothers? It's by the same author." 

"I've read that, too. You really should keep better track of your books." Cassandra laughed as his face fell. "Hello, Inquisitor."

"A moment, Cassandra?" Trevelyan asked. Cassandra stood and they walked to the trencher so she could drop off her plate. "About the Graves," the Inquisitor began as the Seeker tossed her scraps in the fire, "I don't necessarily mind taking Blackwall. It's just, I'm used to you. I do realize that I've been filling a lot of those requisitions, though, and Cul- The Commander's troops have been busy too."

Cassandra grinned at Trevelyan's slip. She pretended to ignore it, saying instead. "They are doing excellent work. But that leaves me with....at least a ream of papers to be addressed."

"I understand. Who do you think has to read that ream when you've finished? Frankly, I'm glad you're so behind, I have at least five extra minutes of free time a day." 

"When they write histories about you, Herald, they will say Andraste's second greatest gift to you was sarcasm." The scar on the Seeker's face shifted as her grin turned slightly higher. "So what do you do with those five minutes?"

Trevelyan blushed crimson and said, "Stay at Skyhold, this time, my friend. I will take Blackwall, Solas, and Cole with me to the Graves. But I am not looking forward to training with Blackwall. He spars with Bull." 

"Practice the staff with Solas. He spends far too much time hiding behind my skirt in the back rank." The women laughed. Cassandra asked then, "Would you like a match this afternoon? Third bell?"

"I have a meeting." The inquisitor frowned. "Tomorrow, though. Third bell. And every day after that until we go."

"When do you leave?"

"Next week."

\---

_Merrick collapses on top of her, chest heaving, brow glistening with sweat. He risks a look up, into her eyes, and Philippa is looking at him too. Her expression is unreadable for a minute and he says, too tenderly for his taste, "That was a long time coming."_

_She grins down at him, possessively, and says, "I would be offended if it was." He laughs with her and moves to get up, to pull himself out of her, but her legs tighten around his waist and he feels himself harden again inside her as she pulls off his shirt. Her braid is coming undone and he grips the back of her head and pulls, exposing her neck to trail searing hot kisses down the golden muscles there._

_She tastes lightly of sweat but more of the sweet red wine she favors, and his hips start to move again. She sighs, tightens around him. Philippa reaches for the laces of her blouse. Her fingers move deftly and she unties the garment and pulls it off over her head. His slow, methodical thrusts grind her hips hard into the wood of the desk while he drags her breast band down with his teeth. He cannot help a low whistle of appreciation as the perfect orbs fall free, dusky nipples darkening under his gaze. Merrick's pace quickens and they bobble, up and down, and he catches a bud in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth and tongue. He thanks his Ancestors in this moment, blessing them for the height difference that gives him such easy access to Philippa's charms._

_It is silent in the room, the fire in the corner slowly dying as they take their pleasure. After a long moment, she keens under him and shudders. He drives her harder, hands grasping, pulling her hair, teeth grazing her breasts and abdomen before rising up to capture her lips with his._

_They have never kissed before._

\---

Cassandra rubbed her eyes and picked up the piece of parchment, blowing on it to get it dry. (A good stopping place,) she thought, (but I am not even halfway done with the first chapter.) She frowned and got back to work. All afternoon, and into the evening she alternated by the hour, the reports, and her writing.

\--

 

_The kiss burns between them and their tongues war with each other as their bodies join. Her arms twine around him as he deepens the kiss, and years of tension between them, years of jibes and disagreements and double crosses, finally melt into something even hotter. She rakes her fingernails down his back and he moans and pounds into her as hard as he can. In that moment, he realizes two things. He is going to come, and Philippa is not wearing daggers on her thighs. She always wears daggers on her thighs. He looks to his left and sees a small mirror propped up against the window frame, on the floor. It is positioned perfectly so that from her position on the desk, she can see the door to the chamber. He knows immediately that the princess has set him up, and to his utter shock, it just turns him on more._

_He presses his advantage inside her and she throws her head back. Her eyes close and he pulls his belt off his trousers. She cries out his name, and he quickly pins her hands over her head, securing them to the corner of the desk, around the leg, with his belt._

_"Oh," she murmurs. "That's naughty."_

_She clenches her muscles around his cock and he bites hard into her collarbone, and both are driven over the edge again, both whimpering and shuddering. This time they lay, completely spent, for a moment, before Merrick speaks._

_He says, "You don't get to win this time, princess. You must want to kill this guy real bad if you're finally willing to play this card on me, of all people." He squeezes his arms around her one last time and slips out from between her legs. She opens her mouth to speak but he silences her with another kiss. "Shhh. Don't ruin it. You were magnificent. Well worth the wait." He produces a small scarf from his pocket and binds it around her mouth, then chuckles at her while he dresses and arms himself._

_She is protesting around the gag, and he smiles, and pats her cheek. He goes to the side of the desk and picks up her blouse, plucking the contract out of its hidden pocket. He throws the garment over her chest as he climbs out over the balcony. "Good luck getting out of that knot."_

_Mere moments later, Bryce and Karaline burst into the room, prepared to grab Merrick, but instead arriving just in time for him to salute them as he drops off the railing._

\---

She was so engrossed she did not hear the door to the smithy open, and she did not hear Varric's heavy footfalls up the stairs. She was dipping her quill in the ink pot when he said, "Seeker." She jumped and accidentally flicked the ink pot to the floor. Ink spattered the wall, and pooled under the desk.

Cassandra leapt up and whirled around. "Varric!" He didn't respond for a moment, because of what she was wearing.

Her short hair was a little messy and the cornflower blue dress clung to her around her torso but loosened over her hips. She wasn't wearing gloves, and her fingers were stained with ink. He didn't know she owned a dress, much less worked in one.

He couldn't resist a little jab. "Is that embroidery?" He asked, pointing at her bodice. His eyes followed his finger and he tried not to notice the curve of her breast where the lacing ended.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "I do like some pretty things. I am not always armored."

"Could have fooled me, Seeker."

"What are you doing here, dwarf? I am very busy."

"The Inquisitor sent me. We are having a few drinks at the Herald's Rest, and she saw your light on. You've been in here since they rang the Noonday bell. Have you eaten?" He peered up at her, and he appeared to be... sincere.

But Seekers are a naturally suspicious lot, so her eyes narrowed and she asked, "What's the catch?"

"No catch. Just food, drinks, time with our friends." He cajoled. "And a chance to get away from --" he looked at the desk, but Cassandra stepped in front of him, between him and her paperwork. Which brought him face to face with her chest. He swallowed hard, and tried his ass off not to look down, just into her eyes, but his voice caught as he said, "-- whatever you're doing."

(Well, shit.) He tried to move around her to look at the papers on the desk, the wall, the bookshelf, anything that would stop him from following the impulse at the front of his mind. She dodged in front of him, unintentionally bouncing her cleavage in his face. They two of them wove left and right for a few moments and finally Varric said, allowing himself to look,"Keep waving them at me, Seeker, and I am going to do something about it."

His words were like a pole axe and she was suddenly, keenly aware of how close together they were, how his face hovered above her bosom, how his eyes were dark and glittering like bits of shale in his head. The words she had written somehow made her bold, and she stepped forward and pressed her body into his. He glared at her, took her head between his hands, and uttered two words. "Fuck it." He pulled her head down.

His mouth crushed hers and she sighed. Her lips fell open in surprise and he took it as an invitation, sliding his tongue in to mingle with hers. She tasted like tea and green melons, and Andraste's tits she was kissing him back. Her arms were around his neck, his hands were in her hair and they finally acknowledged the attraction that hung between them for months.

She pulled away first, gasping. "But I thought....you didn't like humans?" She whispered.

"For you, an exception." He smiled and turned his head, resting it on her chest over her heart. It pounded furiously. "Do you want a drink, or not?"

"Are you buying?"

"Sure. Why not. But you have to drink what I get you. No arguing."

"No getting me drunk."

"Didn't I just say, no arguing?" It only took a little more convincing to get Cassandra out of her quarters. He'd even convinced her to wear the dress and some slippers instead of changing back into her breeches. He led her by the hand down the stairs, then stopped and turned to face her.

Their fingers were still twined together as he asked, "You sure you want to go out there holding hands?"

She pursed her lips. "I wasn't thinking about... The implications." She released Varric's hand and said, "Never think that I am ashamed. It's... new."

"Well this just happened. And we haven't done anything to be ashamed of." He smirked and met her eye, and could not resist putting some heat into his gaze. "Yet. Maybe later."

Her laugh warmed his bones as they stepped into the night.

\---

They walked into the Herald's Rest to a loud cheer from the Chargers' table. Many of the tavern's denizens were well into their cups by the time they arrived, and Maryden the Bard was singing a bawdy Fereldan song about a widow and her goat. Soldiers clapped her on the shoulder as she followed Varric to the bar, and some cheered at the sight of her. She waited behind Varric, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with the people around her. One of the soldiers complimented her dress, and she blushed furiously. Varric turned around again' holding two giant flagons of ale, one pitch black and the other a hazy straw color. He get urged with his chin at the tables behind her. "Over there!" He shouted as the music got louder.

A space cleared around Maryden, and as Varric sat on the edge of the bench close to Cassandra, Cullen and Josephine faced each other in the middle of the room. The Comander put an arm around her waist, and they clasped hands, and he whirled her around the floor in a sort of shamrock pattern. She held one side of her skirts with her other hand, and her golden ruffled petticoats swayed in time to the beat. Soon a few other couples joined them on the floor, among them Bull and Dorian and Sera and Harding.The couples swung around, their feet making more complicated patterns on the floor, and partners beginning to switch. Hilarity ensued when Cullen was forced to dance the lady's part as Iron Bull's partner.

The Qunari mercenary bellowed a laugh as the song ended, and swung Cullen into a low, theatrical dip. Cullen punched him in the eye. Bull dropped the former Templar hard on his ass as the crowd roared with laughter. Maryden began playing a mellowed tune, and after a time, the crowd began to disperse. Cullen, Josephine, Bull, and Dorian joined Cassandra and Varric at the huge table in the corner. The Seeker's stomach rumbled loudly as the smell of roasted meat wafted out from the fire pit behind the bar.

She took a big swig of her mug and smiled. "L'eau du Printemps?" She asked as she set it down on the table. "This is literally the only kind of beer I like."

"Huh," said Varric. "Lucky guess." Trevelyan strode to the table from the bar, carrying a carved wooden tray with small cups and a plate of skewered goat on it. She smiled at Cassandra as she set the food down in front of her, followed by three of the little cups. "You eat. Josephine, it is time for cards and I wonder if Leiliana would want to play? Can I trouble you to go ask her?"

Josephine nodded and swept out and Trevelyan admitted to Cassandra, "I thought it would be nice to just have some drinks, and friends, and dancing before we go traipsing off into the middle of nowhere to play shiny green fireworks. Now we need to play cards, and I have brought sips of something delicious and expensive and from home. And strong."

"Then why do I have three, Inquisitor?" Cassandra asked as she eyeballed the clear liquid. Golden flecks floated in it! She was very unsure about actually drinking it. Varric's thigh pressed against hers and she stiffened, but amazingly did not jump. She looked over at him as she finished her skewers and he held up one of the little cups.

"I will, if you will, Seeker." His tone promised more than his words did, but only to a careful listener. She rolled her eyes at him and wiped her mouth and hands with a napkin. She shrugged and picked up a glass. They both tipped the glasses back at the same time and swallowed. Cassandra marveled at the spice in the drink, the sweet cinnamon burning down her throat. Varric coughed but the Seeker smiled and enjoyed the sizzle.

"That is delicious." Cassandra chased her sip with her beer and then, without ceremony, downed the other two sips.

"Cassandra," the Herald warned. "Those are really, really strong."

"I have my instructions." She replied seriously.

Varric laughed. "I said, drink what I give you, Seeker. I make no promises about what anyone else gives you."

"An interesting statement, dwarf." She tried to glare at him and failed.

"You're making a face. Is there something in your eye?"

"Yes," she said, rubbing her eyes with one finger, making an obscene gesture with it as she did.

He laughed again, "Do you know what that even means?" He picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle.

"Yes." She held her hand closer to his face. He swatted it away and dealt the cards.

"In or out, Seeker?"

"You didn't tell me to bring coin for cards."

"Oh right. My apologies." He dealt out the cards, and as they looked at their hands (everyone except Cullen and the Seeker) Dorian leaned over and whispered quietly to Bull, "Am I drunk, or are Varric and Cassandra flirting with each other?"

"They are." Bull said quietly. "But you're drunk too. And you know I like it when you press yourself up against me."

"You'd like it if a sack of potatoes pressed itself up against you." Dorian quirked an eyebrow but did not move away from the larger man.

"Potatoes are lumpy. Not good for a snuggle or for keeping warm."

"Dear diary, today my eight foot tall horned friend who can kill a man with a pince-nez, used the word 'snuggle' in a sentence." Dorian smirked and leaned back as the betting came around to him.

After awhile, Leliana arrived, to the collected delight of the table. To the card players she brought fresh coin, and for Cullen and Cassandra she brought a small chessboard. People shifted around the table and Leliana settled in next to Cassandra. "Did you finish your work?" Leliana asked softly.

The Herald asked Varric to tell a particular story she favored, and as he began to weave the tale the companions leaned closer. Varric hooked his foot around Cassandra's under the table and quickly looked at her. The blue, short-sleeved dress clung to her in a few wonderful places and the Marcher liquor had put a rosy glow in her cheeks. Varric contemplated how nice it was to allow himself these thoughts instead of squashing them. She patted his knee under the table and smiled at him a little.

"One chapter. And a few of the reports." Cassandra replied quietly. She moved a piece and Leliana tossed a copper on to the betting pile.

"Not bad. Do you think you can finish another in three weeks? You know you lose a percent of the final payment for every day it is late." Leliana discarded, drew, and folded while Cullen took his turn at chess. She pretended not to notice the flush on her old friend's face or the slightly star struck expression in her eyes as she listened to the dwarf tell his story. It was good to see her like this; she'd only ever looked this happy around Regalyan.

"I know. I will do my best."

\---

Varric told his story with his usual, dramatic flair. He'd told it so many times he could tell it in his sleep, and as he rose out of his chair to reenact Hawke versus That One Guy With The Mask, he overheard a snippet of the Seeker and the Nightingale's conversation. (Lose a percent, eh? Note to self, ask Cassandra about that. Should be interesting.) His friends listened appreciatively as he dealt the cards.

If he was being honest with himself, and it was that kind of night, he really loved telling this story. Every word, every cadence, every shift in tone was etched on his heart. This was Hawke's favorite story. He said it was because he told it so well. He suspected otherwise, recalling the night in its entirety. But the way he told it had Hawke the hero, and him the hapless drunk, instead of the other way around. He was no hero.

The night wore on, and eventually everyone told a story of some kind. At one point, Dorian went to the bar for a bottle and a few more small cups.

"Whisky from Tevinter," he told them, "Sent by Felix, bless him." So Dorian told a story about Felix getting into trouble for bringing him... treats... in the middle of the night, and Leliana told a story about King Alistair and Queen Elissa trying to get Dog out from between them in camp one night, so then the Herald herself told a story about a mabari imprinting on a cat. There was so much laughter as they enjoyed each other's company. They all took turns pouring sips from the large but beautiful bottle.

"This Vint shit is good." Bull said after his third sip.

"This Vint shit, as you put it, is the finest bourbonne in all of Thedas!" Dorian sniffed haughtily. His mock offense did not stop him from emptying the bottle into four more little cups.

Varric looked around later and everyone was very intoxicated. Even the workers were gone from the bar as the bells rang Fourth. Empty pitchers were strewn across the table, empty bottles were littering the floor. Josephine's head lolled onto Blackwall's shoulder, and so did Leliana's, and he tried to squirm out from under them. As Josephine punched him in the ribs and nestled closer, Leliana pulled his arm over her shoulder. "Move, and I'll cut you." She threatened. He replied, "No knives!" too quickly and she laughed and hauled them both to their feet.

"Come on and help me with Josie. She's a dead weight when she's drunk."

He pulled on the Ambassador's arm and grunted. "Indeed she is."

They hauled her out of the tavern without another word, and soon Trevelyan and Cullen followed. Cassandra stood and stretched, stifling a yawn. "I should find my bed."

Dorian walked with her to the door. They both swayed a little and laughed, and the Mage whispered something in her ear. Varric could have sworn they both sashayed out of the pub.

He looked at Iron Bull and said, "Are you going after him?"

Bull raised his eyebrows and laughed. "Are you going after her?"

"You think I should?"

Rumbling laughter followed Varric out into the night. He crossed the yard and opened the door to the smithy, climbing the stairs before he changed his mind. Cassandra was bent over the chest in the corner, locking it. Whatever was on her desk before was gone, replaced with requisition forms and troop movement reports.

"One percent of what payment?" He asked quietly. She jumped and stood, one hand grabbing at the undone lacing on her bodice and one over her mouth, stifling a yelp. "Oh! Hello."

"Hello." Maker's feet, what was he doing here? "One percent of what payment?"

He finished climbing the stairs and stood in front of her. "Tell me you ladies don't owe favors to the Merchants' Guild."

"What?" She said. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Listen, I know some guys. If you're having problems with the Guild all I need to do is write a few letters. It's really no trouble." He let concern seep into his voice. "They're assholes, Seeker, and if I can help you, I will."

She laughed. "I promise I'm not having problems with the Merchants' Guild. Now, if that's all you came for, I really would like to sleep."

His voice lowered. "That's not all I came for." He closed the distance between them and pulled her down into another kiss. It was hungry, this time, a promise of things to come, and his hands roamed down her back to cup her bottom and pull their hips closer together. She let go of her bodice and tangled her arms around his shoulders. She still tasted of green melons but this time layered under bourbonne and cinnamon. Her tongue caught his and he shuddered, grinding himself into her. Before he got too carried away by her scent, her lips, her gasps against his mouth, he let go first, and she nibbled his lip for a moment. He groaned a warning with one word. "Seeker."

"Hm?" Her lips grazed his forehead, his ear, his eyebrow. Her hands loosened his ponytail, pulled out the tie, then ran through his hair.

"We're both very drunk." Her fingers massaged his scalp and he pulled her closer. "That's very distracting."

She hummed. "Yes. I am... Quite intoxicated." She kissed him once, a brief brush of lips, and pulled away. She met his eyes and hoped how she felt for him was in them. "Goodnight, Varric."

"Good night, Seeker." It was.

"Cassandra."

He smiled at her again, disarmingly, and said her name like a caress. "Cassandra."

If dwarves ever dreamed he certainly would tonight, he thought as he went to his room. 


	2. Turn Back, O Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we meet Inquisitor Irgaine Trevelyan. She has a... colorful past, which we will no doubt hear more of. The song, "Turn Back, O Man," was written by Stephen Schwartz for the musical Godspell. I hope I'm not stepping on any toes by making the lyrics more Universe-friendly. I used it with only loving thoughts in my mind, as I have fond memories of performing this very tune in a production of that show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long; I literally wrote three abortive attempts at chapter two of this, with three different Inquisitors. I could not find a voice or story I liked. This Miss Quiz, though, she's special and I think I'm going to enjoy writing her.
> 
> I hope you like her too. :) 
> 
> This is an RDQ chapter. Back to Varric and Cassandra next time.

_Dear Randy Dowager,_

_You would not believe the amazing people that work for the Inquisition! The Lady Herald herself has a bit of a checkered past, and one night at the Herald's Rest..._

The very next afternoon, Maryden the bard strummed her lute carefully. This melody was tricksy, and one wrong finger would send the whole thing off key. That was the challenge and the beauty of the tune. Its intricacies made it lovely background music, filling in gaps of conversation but not overpowering speech with anything so silly as lyrics. This song expressed real emotion, to her, filling her heart with sadness, and then uplifting it with joy, as she played. She had recently been named bard-in-residence to the Inquisition, (a post she had auditioned in front of the Nightingale for!) and she was trying to impress anyone who knew anything. 

The huge Qunari mercenary, Iron Bull, sat in his chair against the back wall, and nodded appreciatively as her deft fingers plucked over the strings. _At least someone notices,_ she thought. Better it was one of the inner circle. There might be some security in the position after all.

Someone pulled the tavern door open as Maryden finished playing to polite applause. The sun streamed into her eyes so she didn't get a good look at the woman who crossed the room purposefully to speak with Bull. She began to put her lute in its case as they spoke, and could not resist listening to their conversation.

"Hey Boss."

"Hello Bull."

So this was the Inquisitor. Her back was to Maryden, but she carried herself with an air of casual danger, a snapdragon flower with its jaws open. Her auburn hair was braided up into a bun, and she crossed her arms as Maryden swung her head around at the familiar voice. She could only see barely the left side of the Herald of Andraste's face, but the tilt of her eyebrow and corner of her smile as she regarded the one man horde were vaguely known to her. Maryden turned further to stare at the woman as she spoke.

"While we are in the Emerald Graves, how would you feel about taking Madame de Fer and the Chargers to the Coast? I'm told some Darkspawn have emerged there, and I would hate for the fishing villages to become infected. They have been very cooperative with us and I don't want to let them down."

"Of course, Boss, anything you need." 

"Thanks, Bull. See you later."

"You got it, boss."

Maryden was unobtrusively snapping closed the clasps on her lute case as the Inquisitor turned. Maryden looked up, into her face, and took in a shocked breath. _"Irgaine?"_ The Inquisitor's face lit up with delight. "Maryden!" Yes, she had heard Leliana had hired a bard, but did not expect an old friend from the University of Orlais. They had trained together, had the same patron, but lost touch when Irgaine's family called her back home.

Maryden's arms flew around her neck, and Irgaine's green eyes twinkled as she hugged her friend. "How long has it been? Ten years?"

"Eight!" Answered Maryden. "Do you still sing?"

"Do you still play?" Irgaine asked saucily. Her pert pink lips curved up in a warming smile. "Would you like to meet tonight? It would be like old times." The Inquisitor released the hug and stepped back, still smiling. "We might give the people a show."

"Bring your drums?" Maryden asked.

"And my bells, love." Irgaine replied.

_...and so I returned to the keep's tavern, well after sundown, as the murmur of the crowd crescendoed. I pulled open the door, and the smell of Qunari-style goat skewers underlaid the scent of beer and warm bodies. I stood at the bar and ordered myself a Ferelden Pale, then turned to survey the scene before me...._

The woman Irgaine Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste, leader of the Inquisition, stood near the pillar that held up the roof of the tavern, and beat a rhythm on the worn hide of her red wooden drum, the mark on her hand flashing with each strike. Maryden played a jaunty tune, and the soldiers and workers danced in circles around them as they played. It was an Orlesian peasant's harvest song, and no one was drunk enough to sing the bawdy lyrics. So they danced, and laughed.

A throng of soldiers and Templars occupied the bar, surrounding Commander Rutherford, drinking from cold pewter mugs and eyeing the people dancing. The commander said something and rolled his eyes, and they dispersed, many of his people finding partners among the other patrons or each other, and the ones not so inclined took over a table on the second level, peering over the railing and shouting the occasional catcall.

The commander raised two fingers at the barkeep, and gestured to the women playing. Cabot poured two glasses of white wine, and set them on a tray. One of the tavern girls picked it up when the bartender waved her over, talking in her ear and pointing at the Herald and the bard. When the girl dropped off the drinks, Irgaine paused, pulled a silver out of her pocket, and dropped it saucily in the girl's bodice, smirking and pinching her cheek as she blushed. The girl threw her blonde head back and laughed, and the Inquisitor joined her before she walked away.

Irgaine resumed drumming, faster and louder, and Maryden's lute kept time, and soon the dancers were whirling in a pattern around the floor. The music drove them to a fever pitch, and everyone was laughing, clapping and stomping.

_...the lady Herald pummeled her drum single-mindedly, and the people dancing were in the final throes of the reel, as the two women skillfully slowed them to a halt. People applauded and they sipped their wine, whispering to each other furtively. The Herald shook her head, but the bard kept talking._

The tavern door opened again to reveal the Grey Warden, Blackwall, and the Inquisitor's Elven companion Sera. The pair were laughing as they entered, and they marched to the bar when they spied Cullen sitting by himself, drinking out of his own cold pewter cup. "Cully-Wully!" Sera shouted. The Templars on the second floor twittered.

The Commander glared and finished his beer. He slammed his mug on the bar and scowled angrily at the brightly dressed blonde elf. "Don't call me that," he grumbled at her. He stood as if to leave.

"Commander," the Grey Warden intoned as he eyeballed his friends, "Sera will buy your next drink."

She rolled her eyes, but put a few silvers on the hammered copper bar top. Three more beers appeared in front of them, and Sera grabbed hers and started towards the stairs to the second level. "You're a blighter, Beardy!"

Blackwall laughed. "I wouldn't let her play with the bees."

"Nor would I." The Commander intoned with a chuckle. 

Maryden played an introductory flourish on her lute, and the two men looked to the door as Varric and Cassandra entered the tavern. The Seeker's cheeks were flushed, and Varric's ponytail was slightly askew. The dwarf looked around, smirking victoriously while Cassandra tucked something into the pocket of her doublet.

Maryden strummed a few chords in a minor key upon seeing them and Varric pretended to be angry, shouting across the tavern, "I told you to be subtle when I enter a room!"

Maryden smirked in response, the crowd laughed, and she began to play a few chords on her lute again. Irgaine's eyes widened, briefly, as she looked at Maryden. The two women glared at one another, the bard's eyes challenging the Herald's, until something between them dissolved them to giggles, and Irgaine sighed. "Fine." The Inquisitor set down her drums and pulled on her belled bracelets.

The bard strummed an old timey tone, and Irgaine's foot tapped, and she began to sing.

_...the Lady Herald has a lovely, husky, singing voice, and the way her dress clung to her curves as she strolled about the room might have strained my breeches. Everyone watched her shimmy and undulate as she sang. Funny how a song about defying sin, coming out of her mouth, implied exactly the opposite..._

Irgaine's rich contralto filled the room. As she sang, she ran a hand across someone's back, or brushed someone's cheek with her fingertips, or looked them in the eyes, or any small number of things she did performing that held a room captive. She'd managed to keep her not-so-secret identity under wraps, only known to the leaders of the Inquisition, but with Maryden here, and more recruits by the day, someone certainly would recognize her. So she began the second verse, and fully embraced her old persona.

_Yet thou, her child, Whose head is crowned with flames, Still will not hear thy inner God proclaim, Turn back O man_

She strode towards the bar as she sang, and pulled the pins from her hair, let the straight shining red strands fall to her waist. A low and very sexy smirk crossed her lips as she spied Cullen and Blackwall leaning on the bar. Her piercing green eyes met the Warden's, and her smirk widened as she saw his clear blue eyes blown out in shock. Irgaine spun gracefully, close enough to the dark haired man for her hair to brush the edges of his beard as she turned her back to him and continued her song. She was facing Cullen now, and the crowd seemed to lean in to watch.

The Commander's mouth hung open. The scar on his lips was drawn down into a taut line, and his eyebrows raised up. Her glittering emerald eyes pulled him in as she sang, 

_Turn back O Man... Is your seat comfortable Ser?_

He smirked at her then, and she grabbed his barstool and spun him to fully face her even as she turned to grind her ass against his lap. Now looking at the Warden again, she sang,

_Turn back O man Is my seat comfortable Ser?_

The crowd chuckled, but Cullen growled a wordless warning in her ear even as he grabbed her waist to pull her closer. She rested her head back against his shoulder for a moment and rolled her hips against his one more time before kicking out a bare leg from beneath the cleverly cut pleats in her dress and spinning away from him. She sang and danced amongst the crowd, around the room to the other side of the bar. She turned to Bull in his seat and beckoned him forward. 

_Thedas be fair, And all men glad and wise, Age after age, their tragic empires rise,_

The massive man's horns shone in the brightly lit tavern, and he unashamedly looked down her bodice as she gestured at the bar with a tilt of her head. He grinned, and lifted her up to stand her on it. He paused, and looked at her eyes. Irgaine smiled widely at him, brushing a soft palm across his jaw before turning back to the people in the room. Her eyes lit on Dorian, who watched admiringly from his seat at the middle of the bar and she dropped slowly to her knees and shimmied along the copper expanse to him, knocking over drinks as she did. No one cared, captivated by her sultry pout and glimpses of long bare leg. She rose up on her knees in front of the Mage.

_Built while they dream, And in that dreaming weep, Would man but wake, from out his haunted sleep, Turn back O man.._

Irgaine's left leg slid around Dorian's waist and she let herself down with her right foot on the floor and her hands gripping the edge of the bar. Her head fell back and she wriggled at him, arching her back up and down. He laughed at the mock-carnal motion and gently, playfully shoved her away, so she stood up and mischievously tugged on his moustache, earning another laugh from the crowd as he sputtered in Tevene and smoothed it down.

_It will be well, And Thedas' people one, Not til that hour, shall Andraste's work be done. Turn back O man.._

Bull sidled up the the two disgruntled knights at the bar. Two small cups sat next to their beer mugs, and he pulled the flask of Maaras-lok from his pocket and refilled them. "Do you two know who she is?" The men watched her undulate over to Varric and drag one finger through his chest hair. The dwarf blushed (he blushed!) and Cassandra glared daggers at Irgaine, who smiled a brief apology and strolled away to a table in the middle of the room, where she stood and finished her song, swaying to the beat of the bells on her wrists.

_Now, even now, Once more from earth to sky, Peals forth in joy, man's old undaunted cry It will be well, and Thedas' people one, Not til that hour shall Andraste's work be done. Turn back, O man..._

"What do you mean," Blackwall rasped after taking down his sip. "You know who she is?" Cullen was still coughing and Bull clapped him on the back and leaned closer to them to be heard over the music.

"Have you ever heard of the Siren of Ostwick?" Bull asked.

"Heard of, I think." The Warden replied. "Illegitimate daughter of Bann Luther Trevelyan. Famous performer in her home city?"

Bull grunted. "The proprietor of and singer at The Bluest Eye, finest brothel in the Free Marches. It is said she sold her maidenhead to Loghain Mac Tir for a hundred sovereigns, and, that same night, convinced him to move his armies out of Ostwick. It might even be true. The Chargers did some work for the Bann a couple years ago, and I met her there." He gestured at Irgaine.

Cullen's head swam. She was...

He stood up and pushed his cup away. He kept his face still and began to walk to the door. Bull's massive grey hand on his shoulder stopped him, and the mercenary said, "I know it to be true that her charms are never for sale at The Bluest Eye. It's because she claims she won't compete with her girls. The women there are clean, and safe, and a healer lives in the cottage next door."

"I need to leave. Now." Cullen threw a handful of silvers on the bar, shrugged off Bull's hand, and walked out.

_...still will not hear, thine inner God proclaim!_

The song ended with a flourish of bells and lute, and the crowd cheered as Irgaine stepped down off the table. She finished her glass of wine and strode to the bar, hopping herself up onto the vacant stool next to Blackwall. "That was fun!" She said as Cabot placed another drink in front of her. "Thanks for the boost, Bull." She grinned and ran a hand through her long loose hair, pulling gently at a tangle she found.

He laughed loudly and said,"Anytime, boss, you've definitely still got it."

"Well my father didn't pay for all that schooling in Orlais for no reason. And I forgot how much fun it was!" Her face was flushed, and her bright green eyes glimmered cheerfully. "It's not often one has the privilege of performing in front of such a large group. Well, not anymore."

_and so, gentle reader, the humble tale ends here, with a shocking revelation about our dear Inquisitor! Could it be true? Three scarves fluttering out of five! -RD_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the implied complications, on So. Many. Levels. I'm going to relish this. I also kind of love how well the song fits into the world of Dragon Age, with a few very minor tweaks. 
> 
> I don't have a beta, so if you spot spelling/grammar/crap, lemme know.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hopefully I'll have another chapter soonish, now that I've got my inquisitor situation in line.


	3. And So the Maker Showed His Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Cullen deals with Miss Quiz, and her... Stuff. I'm hoping you, gentle reader, find this a satisfactory... Summation. I certainly found it so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um. I hope this works. It feels in-character to me, but maybe our perceptions of the Commander differ. Either way, I offer you Cass and Varric naughty time as a palate cleanser.

Cullen stalked to his office. He strode up the stairs to the battlements and dragged open three doors, before pulling a black leather bound volume from the bottom shelf of his bookcase. He ascended the ladder to his bedroom, and the stars twinkled at him through the gash in the ceiling. He tossed the book on the bed and began to remove his armor, glaring the whole time at the folded pages that fell from between the sheets of the book.

He unbuckled the clasps on his breastplate, and hung it up on the armor stand in the corner. One day he would get the roof fixed. For now, he thought maybe he should read Leliana's initial report on the Inquisitor. When it was first presented to him, back at Haven, he had read the first page, with her height, weight, physical description. Her nameday. Being the illegitimate daughter of Bann Trevelyan. Him recognizing her as his child, officially, and sending her to train as a bard in Orlais. 

He'd stopped there; he didn't want to pry into the past of a new ally he'd barely met. Much less one he found so... alluring. He realized it was a mistake not to have read it sooner. Obviously she assumed he knew more about her than he actually did, and it pained him to have possibly lead her on, if he could not effectively digest her past. This led to uncharacteristic mental profanity. _Maker's fucking balls._

He crawled into bed and began to read Leliana's drawling, looping script.

_I am told by the Herald herself that it is a Trevelyan tradition to elevate a female by-blow in such a way, so the daughters of the noble House of the Marches have a tradition of their own. They provide the coin that keeps Ostwick afloat, they bring the business of gamblers and the riches of thieves. The Trevelyan women own the vices of Ostwick, just as their men own the careful intricacies of breeding and selling horses._

_That's how she says it, too, 'whores-and-horses' in such a way that belies its escape from her lips a thousand times. I ask her, finally, about Loghain and the hundred sovereigns, and this is what she says:_

_"Loghain and I spent a few hours playing cards in the gardens at Caer Oswin. He was there. Occupying space and conscripting forces, threatening to take horses too. He was gathering power for his bid at the kingdom, and I was set to go to the University. We were captivated with each other, me by a dashing evil usurper to the throne and he by a gentle noble maiden of a suspect house. He was old enough to be my father, and he desired me. I knew this when he took my hand between his and said, 'What would you do, if I would drag my men out of the marsh?' I did not have time to answer._

_"My father entered the room then, and the two men sat down at the table and began to discuss terms. My father would give him three hundred horses, and as many armed men. Loghain would leave and not come back. No one wanted more bloodshed, after all. After a few tense minutes of negotiations, my father Luther began to notice the way he looked at me and said, 'You seek another boon for this, do you not, my lord?"_

_"Loghain looked at me, in all of my nineteen name days, and said with his eyes what he wanted. I assented. But I said, "One hundred sovereigns". He threw his head back and laughed, and shook my father's hand, and the deal was done. I am, after all, still the daughter of a whore. My mother said to me once, that if ever I were in a place to gain anything from my maidenhead, I should not hesitate to do so." I was scandalized when she said this, but she continued, "I do not regret him. He was kind to me, and gentle. And we all gained safety for the Marches."_

_"I don't think my father was proud of me when I left Loghain's chambers the next afternoon. He was passing by the gardens, and he saw me sitting, humbled, picking at the strings of the pouch of gold I'd been given. He sat next to me and asked, are you hale, my daughter?"_

_"I told him I was as well as I could be, and for the first time in my life, he put his arm around me. He said, thank you. And we sat there, just like that, for a long time. I stood up and went to pack for Orlais, as I would be leaving in the morning."_

The report went on in detail about her two years studying in Orlais, her patron, where she lived in Val Royeaux. Then her return to the marches, her prowess with blades and her skill with drums and lute bringing her the unwanted title "Siren of Ostwick." What she did during the Blight (business as usual, keeping dicing and cards alive in the smoky rooms of The Bluest Eye, keeping her girls happy and healthy and very, very busy by performing herself four nights a week, and when the Blight came too near to them, opening the Healer's cottage doors to everyone, and doubling the woman's pay.) The Trevelyans' business dealings, how Irgaine was to work for (all good reports, except for the people who stole from or crossed her), and her reasons for attending the Conclave.

Chancellor Roderick requested her presence! Leliana summarized Irgaine's copy of the letter, asking the future Herald to bring _"ten of your finest ladies, escorted by your lovely self, of course."_ That definitely explained a few things about Roderick's disdain for Trevelyan at Haven. It was an ironic twist of the Maker's hand that made the woman Andraste's Herald, and maybe it was a bitter pill to swallow for the man.

Or maybe, the Maker had moved through the dead Chancellor, and brought Irgaine to the Conclave, and used Roderick to help get everyone out of Haven when the Archdemon attacked. The implications of that notion spun Cullen's head. 

It didn't necessarily have to be Andraste herself behind Irgaine in the fade for this to be the Maker's work. It seemed that Irgaine was the leader they needed, and her time running her family's illicit businesses was a true benefit. She knew when to be kind and when to be ruthless, and she knew when it was time to make an example and time to reach out a hand. Apparently managing whores was a lot like managing politics. 

The word, itself. Whore. His mind turned then to the few months in his youth when he was friends with Samson. They were freshly minted Templars at the time, drunk with lyrium, and full of themselves. They'd spent many a night tumbling girls in the various brothels in town, sometimes two or three at once. He'd struck up an off-and-on business arrangement with a girl named Mira, visiting her occasionally over the months he spent there. 

And so the Maker showed his hand to Cullen again, sending him Irgaine, a holy Herald wrapped in a Desire demon, everything he wanted in a woman, and also the most famous Madam in the Free Marches. Because _of course she was._ Because the demons that tormented him were desire demons, and they haunted him with the shame of his wickedest thoughts. That must mean, he had long surmised, that his weakness was sex. Right? So why not, sweet, asshole Maker, send this woman to be His holy standard, and then wrap her in paper of sin and make Cullen _want_ her. She is poison and antidote, fire and water, _she is everything and Maker, do you hate me? Because I'm falling in love with her._

He heard rapping at his closed door; he knew who it was by the way she knocked first. Everyone else just barged in, but he'd mentioned to Irgaine once that he really hated the lack of locking doors in the keep. She opened the door and said his name questioningly.

"Cullen? Are you in here?"

His heart felt like it would burst from his chest at the sound of her voice. He rose out of the bed and walked to the ladder to peer down at her. "I'm here. Did you, ah," (from his perch in the loft he could see straight down her bodice and he blushed and looked up, rubbing his neck) "Did you require something?"

"Would you come down here, please? I'm straining my neck looking up at you like this." She was still wearing the cleverly cut pale green dress she'd recently performed in at the Herald's Rest, and her gleaming red hair was still hanging loose down her back. 

He climbed down the ladder and turned to face her. She was flushed from the wine, green eyes twinkling at him as she leaned on the edge of his desk with her arms crossed. Cullen stood against the ladder. "Alright then, Inquisitor. How can I help you?" 

She rolled her eyes at him. "I assume, _Commander_ , that before now, you didn't read Leliana's report about me." 

"I had not." His brown eyes were embers when he looked into hers.

"And so that is what you were doing, up there. Bull told you about me. You've read the report." She paused. "What do you want to know?"

Her eyes bored back into his, and they narrowed a bit, as if she were mentally bracing herself. She waited, impatiently, and dropped her arms to her sides, palms out. "Ask." She commanded.

He took a breath in and out through his nose. "Bull said, your. Ah. Your charms..." She was going to make him say it, so he composed himself, ran a hand through his blonde hair. Still looking into her eyes, he said. "The exact words were, 'her charms were never for sale.' Is it true?"

She knew not to joke. "It is."

"And Loghain?"

"What about him?"

He wanted to ask, _what was it like?_ , and _did you enjoy it?_ , and to his shame _what did he do with you, that you were there all day?_ but he settled on, "What did you do with the hundred sovereigns?"

"I'd planned to purchase a horse to make the trip to Val Royeaux with. When Loghain found out, he gave me his personal mount, Sentinel." She chuckled. "To remember him by."

Cullen's upper lip curled into a snarl around the scar that bisected it. The image of her, long red hair around her as she rode another man came unbidden and he found it made his innards twist, even as it answered his unspoken question. _It should be me. Always, me. It is blasphemous to love Andraste's Herald?_ He realized he did not care about her past. If she could learn to care for a lyrium-addled ex-Templar with Mage issues and night terrors, he could certainly ignore her... unsavory history. He began to cross the room to gather her into his arms when she said, "If I'd realized you didn't know, I would not have let you kiss me." 

He stopped in front of her close enough to touch. It tugged at Irgaine's heart, the expression of tenderness on his impossibly handsome face. "I still want to kiss you."

"Are you certain?"

Apparently pulling her to his chest and covering her mouth with his own was the answer to that question.

\----

The sun shone mercilessly down on Skyhold the next morning, and Cassandra groaned and rolled over on her bedroll. The bells were tolling second, which meant she had slept half the morning away. She stood and went to the basin to wash up. It was too late to run around the ramparts, but the recruits would be sparring by now, and she could still get in a workout and some lunch before buckling down to more paperwork. She dunked a cloth into the chilly water and removed her tunic before wringing it out and beginning to wash.

She smiled as she remembered why she'd been sleeping so late. After Irgaine's performance, she had one more drink with Varric before feigning tiredness and heading back to her space above the smithy. He'd offered to walk her and she'd accepted, ignoring the knowing smirk on Dorian's face as they left. 

She pushed the door shut behind them, and he grabbed her arm and gently pushed her back into the door. The way he said her name before he kissed her made fire dance along her arms, and as his tongue pushed into her mouth she whimpered and pulled the ponytail out of his hair to run her fingers in the fine red-gold strands. They stood there for a long time, just kissing, before things got more heated and his hand was under her tunic running a thumb over her breastband, and he released her lips to tilt her chin to the side with one hand. He nipped her earlobe and she gasped as arousal shot straight from her ear to her center, and Cassandra could feel him grin against her neck. "You like that, Seeker?"

He ran his tongue around the shelł of her ear and she shuddered. Her fingers dug into the silk of his tunic and she turned her head, kissing him desperately. She could feel him, already hard, pressing against her leg and he rocked his hips into her thigh. When they came up for air, she said, eyes glittering at him, "Do that again."

He smirked possessively at her and obliged, nipping her earlobe, dragging it into his mouth with his teeth to suck on it. His fingers worked under her breast band to twist at one nipple. Cassandra moaned softly, a sound that made Varric pause and look up at her with a knowing smile. "You do like that." He nearly purred at her, nuzzling her neck and sliding his hand from her breastband to the ties of her trousers. He undid the top string, and said, "Tell me to stop, if you want." His other arm wound around her back and gripped the back of her head, tangling in the short black locks. He looked up at her, into her eyes, before loosening her trousers and plunging his hand into her smalls.

Cassandra just looked at him as he slowly ran his finger around the edges of her clit. When he stroked it, gently, her back arched and she was throwing her head back against the door, and moaning, and sweet Maker, that sound was so good. When he picked up the pace her hips rocked into his hand and her sighs echoed against the dead fireplaces in the room. She rode his fingers at a gallop, and he kissed her as she came, muffling her desperate cry with his mouth. 

He extricated his hand from the tangle of cloth between her legs and kissed her one more time, before pulling the door open and disappearing into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have some Blackwall smut in queue. But if there is a pairing that fits in this canon that you'd want to see, I'm up for suggestions. What? Am I shamelessly asking for prompts? I. Would. Never.


	4. Dear Mystified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As I have promised, dear sweet reader, here is your Blackwall smut. Dirty time for our not-Warden.
> 
> Oh my god, so NSFW. Posted with Ch. 5 so you can skip ahead if you prefer.

_  
_

__

__

_Dear Randy Dowager,_

__

__

_It has recently come to my attention that there are not one, but two lovely young things interested in my affections. Normally this would not be letter worthy, as you know, but my question stems from the nature of their relationship with each other. You see, they are already lovers and have dropped some not-so-subtle hints that they would like me to join them. As I prefer to keep my private affairs private, how do I return their interest without letting all our nosy neighbors know what we are up to?_

__

__

_Signed,_

_Mystified in the Mountains_

Blackwall did his best not to stumble as he helped Leliana haul Josephine up to her rooms. Maker, it felt like his veins were full of whisky. So too were the to women he was "escorting" to their rooms. They clung to him drunkenly, and he wondered how he had won babysitting duty. He tried to ignore Josephine's hands wandering around his stomach, and Leliana losing her grip on his collar and grazing his backside with a gloved fist. However, having not one, but two beautiful women pressed against him was extremely pleasant experience. He minded his hands as he held Josephine up. Her amber eyes glimmered in the moonlight, and she smiled at her red-haired friend. "Lovely night for a walk," she slurred, carefully placing her feet on the stairs. They were in the halls behind the kitchens, because Blackwall figured that the open stairs leading into the keep were too dangerous. Someone could fall off. Josephine would think it worse if someone saw her in her current state. 

They slogged up to the door to Josephine's room, and Leliana reached into the other woman's pocket for the key. Josephine giggled prettily and playfully swatted at her hand. "Now, don't get fresh, little nightingale."

Leliana laughed and left her hand in the pocket, pretending to clumsily grope around, before producing a key and unlocking the door. Josephine sagged a bit as Leliana let her go to light a candle with a flint from her pocket. "Help her to the bed." She instructed Blackwall.

He looked at her, a question in his eyes. She smiled a little. "Don't worry, we don't bite." Leliana said as she lowered her hood. He moved towards the bed and settled Josephine on her back, gently. 

"Well, maybe a little bit." Josephine said as she sat up. 

Blackwall jumped back a little and peered into her eyes. "You're not even drunk." He looked over at Leliana. "Neither are you." He jumped and tugged at his beard as Leliana shot home the bolt in the door. Josephine swung her feet down to the floor and kicked off her slippers. "Ladies..." He began. His mouth went dry as Josephine stood and walked to him. She pulled the pins out of her hair and shook it out. It hung in soft waves to her waist and he resisted the urge to reach out and touch one of the long black locks.

"May I speak plainly, Ser Blackwall?" Leliana asked. 

He tore his eyes from Josephine and managed to grate out, "You may." "You see, Ser Blackwall, Josie and I have... a bit of a running disagreement about you." Leliana moved away from the door and closer to them. Her nimble fingers undid the clasps of her armor, and she pulled it off, revealing a simple white shift with no sleeves. Her arms were lean and white, well muscled but not very thick, and covered in tiny white scars, likely from miscellaneous knife fights over the years. She set her jacket on the nearest chair and moved around the room as she spoke, lighting a few more candles with more than a a passing familiarity of the space. Josephine held his left hand, massaging his palm through his glove, and his right either hung at his side or reflexively reached for a sword that wasn't there. 

"I'm sure you are aware," she began, "that Josie and I have a bit of a history. We have been lovers for a long time" (the Maker had now cursed Blackwall with that vision) "and friends for longer than that. And while we definitely enjoy what we have, sometimes something more is required. Some thing more, or some one."

Blackwall stared at her. He had heard of these sorts of arrangements in Orlais; one of his friends had even been involved in one, the sheisty bastard. But Valois had arranged this for himself. He had never heard of anyone being _asked._ Not quite like this. He stalled for time as he struggled to digest their conversation. It was difficult with Josephine's hand massaging its way up his arm. "You mentioned a disagreement?" He managed, still a bit dumbstruck.

"Ah, yes, I did." Leliana affirmed. Josephine's hands moved up his arm further and she stood behind him now, and began to massage his shoulders. "Now, Josie, darling, don't get carried away." 

"I won't."

"The disagreement involves whether or not you would be willing to join us." Leliana smirked as she watched the blood drain from his face. She held his gaze for a moment, then dropped hers to his crotch, where an outline began to form. "I say you will. Josie says you won't. Winner gets the prize." The ambassador's hands were still moving on his back as Leliana closed on him. He was reminded of a spider nearing its supper but Josephine's hands were marvels as they tangled in his hair and pulled back, tilting his head up to face Leliana's eyes directly.

"I assume then, that I am the prize?" He gasped as her fingers brushed against his cock over his pants, then winced as Leliana smacked it. Her nails grazed his balls on the way down.

"Well. Whoever wins, gets to go first. Behave yourself, Josie." Despite the warning, Josephine had already pulled off his gloves and was now unhooking the front of his doublet. 

_Maker preserve me._

"And if I refuse?" 

The Nightingale laughed huskily. "We will never speak of this again." 

His eyes narrowed and he remembered a primary lesson of the Game. Show, don't tell. "Perhaps, my ladies, a demonstration?" His pulse quickened with his boldness, but he could not refuse a small taste of this offer. It was one he was inclined to accept. Other parties had declined his attention, and if they were willing...

...so was he. 

_Dear Mystified,_

_First, allow me to congratulate you on what must be your obvious charms. Most people would envy your position, and many would not have your discretion with the same. Only foolish individuals enter into a situation such as this lightly. My advice to you is: embrace the moment, for it is rare. And if you should happen to respond to this missive with a longer note, perhaps with a few details, it would be certain to send scarves fluttering._

_Am I begging for details? Why, yes I am, dear Mystified! I can only wait patiently, and hope._

_Yours thrice,_

_RD_

Blackwall's doublet fell to the floor, and Leliana stepped up in front of him. Her deft fingers untied the collar of his shirt as Josephine undid the laces of his trousers. He shuddered as her golden hands moved, nails grazing his lower abdomen as she pressed herself against his back. Leliana dropped to her knees and Josephine pulled his cock out and gave it a long stroke. It twitched and Leliana smirked.

It seemed an eternity her delicate pink lips hovered over him. He could feel her breath on the tip, and slowly, slowly, her head lowered and she took him into her mouth. Her tongue was wonderful as it lapped and swirled around him and Josephine was behind him, nipping at his neck. She licked the shell of his ear and whispered, "She has a wicked tongue."

Leliana's head bobbed up and down and her _(Maker, yes, wicked)_ tongue traced every vein on his shaft. Blackwall buried his hands in her coarse red hair, groaning as she sucked harder. Josephine pulled his head to the right and moved around his body so she could kiss him. Her soft full lips brushed his, and with Leliana taking him in her mouth as she was... He loosed his right hand from the auburn locks to draw Josephine closer and parted her lips with his tongue. She sighed into the kiss and twined her arms around his neck. 

He could not keep his hips from thrusting cruelly into Leliana's mouth, driving his cock down into her throat as he explored Josephine's mouth with his. It was all too much; too much and wonderful and both women had such skilled tongues that all thoughts ceased, and he gave himself over to the pounding tide of orgasm building in his blood. His grip tightened around Josephine's waist and Leliana's hair, and his whole body shuddered as it broke over him. He rumbled a helpless groan into Josephine's mouth and spilled into the back of Leliana's throat, giving a few more stuttering pumps of his hips.

He broke the kiss and rested his head on Josephine's chest, panting. Her lips were close to his ear, and her breath ghosted across his cheek as she spoke. "I trust," she purred, her Antivan accent thickening, "that this demonstration has met with your approval?"

He barked a laugh and looked down at Leliana, whose face was tinged pink. His hand was still in her hair, and he used it to pull her up into his embrace, too. "Most definitely, my ladies." He replied. Leliana giggled as her arms settled, one around Blackwall and the other around Josephine.

Leliana pressed her lips to Josephine's, capturing them in a sweet kiss, the taste of Blackwall still on her tongue. Josephine tasted the sweet vanilla that was naturally Leliana, and the heady musk and tang the Warden left behind. Her hips hitched into Blackwall's thigh, and he nipped and kissed at their faces and necks as their mouths met.

"It occurs to me," Blackwall mumured against Josephine's neck, "that perhaps this resolves your disagreements?"

"It does, serrah," Leliana answered. "Though perhaps we should have discussed exactly what going first meant."

"I'm sure we can reach some sort of agreement." Josephine said. She stepped out of the embrace and began to untie her blouse, and Leliana did the same. They looked at him and Josephine said, "Strip."

He did not have to be told twice, and soon enough he was on his back on the soft sheets of Josephine's bed, bare as he was born and staring at two beautiful women. Leliana's red hair was duplicated in the thatch of thick curls where her legs met, and her pale muscled body glowed in the candlelight. Scars puckered her abdomen and legs, and she was beautifully unashamed of her body. 

Josephine was more shy as she stepped out of her gown. It puddled at her feet as she clasped her arms in front of her and looked down at the floor. With her fingertips, Leliana lifted Josephine's chin to look into Blackwall's eyes. He said, "You're beautiful. Both of you." 

His cock hardened again as he watched them kiss, Leliana pulling Josephine to the edge of the bed. The redhead sat down, and pulled the other woman to her. She pushed Josephine's arms away from her breasts and cupped them both in her hands, and ran her thumbs over the hardened brown peaks. Josephine's head fell back, her long black curls brushing her ass, and as Leliana took one into her mouth and sucked, Josephine moaned.

I Blackwall did not tear his eyes away as Josephine pushed Leliana down on her back, trailing wet kisses down her body, and licking and nipping a trail lower, and lower, until finally delving her tongue into the sweetness at her core. Leliana gasped loudly and scooted back, dragging Josephine with her by the hair up onto the bed even as her hips molded into her lover's devouring tongue. Josephine's head twitched and started between Leliana's legs, making the redhead croon her name.

Josephine's ass was in the air, and Blackwall rolled up out of bed and set his feet on the floor, stalking around behind them. He rested his hand on the small of her back, a warning, and clambered up to his knees behind her, running the knuckle of his thumb under her belly and then over her clit. She bucked and squirmed even as she licked at Leliana. 

She hissed when he brushed the head of his cock against her, and, open-mouthed, sucked on Leliana as hard as she could while he drove it into her. Her lips danced around Leliana's clit and she gasped as he set a quick pace. His knuckle still drifted, up her spine and over her shoulder, down her neck between her breasts and into Leliana's red thatch, where it circled her entrance even as Josephine ate at her. Leliana keened, scooted farther up on the bed, and Blackwall grabbed the back of Josephine's head to shove it back down.

Josephine nipped and licked and moaned as Blackwall fucked her, and Leliana's hands drifted to the back of Josephine's head. The Antivan's fingers delved in, mimicked the thrusts of the Warden, and he was setting a pace that would push them all over. He ground himself down into her hips, as she curled her fingers inside Leliana. The Nightingale squealed, and the sound made Josephine's muscles clench around him, which drove him to spill his seed deep into her. He collapsed, on her back, and after a minute rolled off to his right.

Josephine was the first to laugh. "So, did we win?" 

"Yes," Leliana chuckled as she moved up the bed, dragging a blanket of sewn bear hides up with her, a gift from Cassandra, as she laid down on her side, urging Josephine down onto her back. Leliana rested her head on one breast, and smiled as Blackwall rested his on the other. "Everyone wins." 

_....and so, dear Dowager, you are correct in your assessment. My pleasure is only outweighed by my gratitude._

_My goodness, Mystified! You have outdone several practiced contributors with your tale. I can only hope that you will regale us further. To that end, I include a year's subscription, and a first run copy of this year's hardback. Five desperately aroused scarves fluttering out of five!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I love me some Blackwall with his sexy beard, and shoulders, and angst. Too bad about him, huh?


	5. The Cheers of Drunken Assholes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cass and the Herald spar; 
> 
> I have included the Herald's ablutions. It was fun to do, as it always troubled me how people kept clean and good smelling, even remotely, in a time without indoor plumbing.

_Bryce chooses not to take in the scene in Philippa's chambers. He instead wiggles three fingers in an obscene gesture at Karaline, and dives after Merrick out the window. Philippa is tied to the desk by her wrists with a leather belt, and she is clearly debauched, skirts shoved up around her waist and nothing covering her other wise but a carefully tossed blouse. She glares at Karaline as the blonde warrior begins to laugh. Philippa is gagged, yet manages to clearly scream, "Fuck you!" through the scarf between her lips. Karaline laughs harder, brown eyes twinkling over the strong slopes of her cheekbones, as she saws through the belt with her sword._

_The belt finally breaks, and Philippa sits up and pushes her skirts down to the floor again, dragging the gag out of her mouth and glaring at her friend as she puts her blouse back on. "We have to catch him!"_

_Karaline replies, "Suit up."_

_It is not long before Philippa is armed and armored, twin Summerstone daggers gleaming pale yellow in their sheathes on her back, raven braid nestled back between her breasts, and they race to the stairs, out through the bustling tavern, and on to the horses._

_Karaline pulls Bryce's phylactery out of her blouse, where it always hangs, suspended on a chain over her heart. Her eyes flash lyrium blue for a moment, and she points northeast, out past the corn fields, into the deep starlit expanse of the sloping foothills. The two women ride off, headlong, as fast as they can._

\---

(There,) Cassandra thought proudly, (Chapter twelve finished.) She gently blew on the neat page of parchment, then stood and dried it with ashes from the cold hearth. She put the page down on her desk, and went to the chest on the floor that held the rest of her writing and correspondence, and pulled out chapter twelve of Blight's Redemption. The Seeker sat back down at the desk, and began to reread everything once more as the bells tolled third.

She was just getting to Philippa's chamber for the end of the slow build (since chapter three! She'd lost count of the number of times she'd toyed with poor Merrick) when the door to the smithy banged open and Irgaine's low, melodious voice called up to her, echoing into the rafters. "Cassandra? Are you in here?" _Maker, if I had a sov for every time I've said that lately..._

The Seeker heard boots clomping up the stairs, and she hurriedly (but carefully) put the pages back into their place in the chest, then locked it and turned as the Inquisitor rounded the top flight of stairs. Irgaine's red hair was up in its usual braided bun, and she smiled as she took note of her friend's ink-stained fingertips. "Did you forget something?"

Cassandra looked at Irgaine for a moment, having clearly forgotten. 

"Third bell? Sparring match?"

"Oh!" The Seeker grinned ruefully. "I am sorry."

"It's actually fine. The war council can wait."

"Avoiding something?

"Absolutely," Irgaine replied, green eyes shining with mirth. "I absolutely adore spending time memorizing the names and idiosyncrasies of Orlesian nobles. I swear, I am going to hate the Winter Palace."

Cassandra chuckled and went to the basin to rinse her hands. When they were clean, she buckled on her armor, saying, "You're not avoiding a certain handsome ex-Templar? I saw him leave in the middle of your song last night."

The Inquisitor blushed furiously, remembering the expression on his face last night, his lips against hers, him dropping his gloves on the floor to twist in her hair. Cassandra smirked, but Irgaine said, "No more than you've been in here all day, approving reports, maybe avoiding a certain rakish author who offered to walk you back to your quarters?"

Now the Seeker blushed helplessly. Both women laughed, and Cassandra said, "I have many matters of important Inquisition business to attend to, and it would _not_ do to get distracted."

Irgaine laughed harder and said, "Was that a joke, Cassandra?"

"Maybe."

"Perish the thought," Irgaine paused to calm her breathing, "If you're feeling jovial, I think we should go have a spar." 

\---

Not twenty minutes later, Cassandra stood opposite Irgaine in the middle of the practice ring inside the keep. Both women wore loose, short-sleeved cotton blouses and form-fitting leather pants. The sun was still shining, and it glinted off the dull edges of their practice blades as they regarded each other. Cassandra held her sword up in front of her face in a sort of salute, and said, "Begin."

Irgaine nodded and they began to circle each other, and the smaller woman dove in with her daggers along her forearms to deliver two quick strikes, Cassandra easily deflected them and swiped at the Herald, who tilted out of the way with a smirk. They began in earnest, then, and it was not long before a crowd gathered. 

Varric heard a dull murmur coming in through the doors of the hall, and he stepped away from the letter he was writing. He walked out to the top of the stairs and looked down to his left at the flurry of activity below. The Seeker was battling Irgaine in the ring, and seemed to be winning as she knocked the slight Herald off her feet. Irgaine tangled her legs in Cassandra's, dropping the other woman on her face as she sprung up to her feet and backed away. 

(Well, shit.) he thought. He'd better get down there and make sure there was gambling.

\---

The Herald spun around on her left foot gracefully, avoiding a blow that might have knocked her down, and swung her left dagger around to catch Cassandra with the flat of it. The Seeker caught the blow and dragged her blade across her opponent's dagger, catching the hilt and knocking it out of Irgaine's hand. It flew away, into the crowd, as she caught Cassandra's sword hand, deftly plucking the weapon from the Seeker. Now armed with a sword in her left hand and a dagger in her right, she rolled forward, somersaulting away with both. 

Cassandra scowled as Irgaine flourished the weapons, and rushed at her, hiding her head behind her shield and tucking her shoulder in just so, as to use the strength in her legs to bash into her. Irgaine crossed her weapons and met Cassandra head on, gritting her teeth at the screech of the impact of blades against metal shield, and digging her feet in, to try to match Cassandra's strength. It was a losing effort, and Irgaine grunted as her knees gave way beneath her. Cassandra looked down at her and smiled victoriously, and the Inquisitor smiled back as she reached down and grabbed a handful of dirt. 

Irgaine flicked up with her wrist, and a cloud of dust covered Cassandra's head and eyes. The crowd made a surprised sound, a collective _Oh!_ , and the Herald pushed up with her daggers and knocked Cassandra on her back. Irgaine straddled her, and held the side of her own sword to her neck, and Cassandra lilted, "I yield."

The Herald of Andraste's red hair shone in the late afternoon sun as she dropped her weapons and reached down a hand to her friend to help her up. Cassandra accepted with a glare. Her face was filthy, and the sweat on her brow mixed with the dirt to form mud. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, grimacing. To say she was unhappy was an overstatement. If she wanted to quantify it, she would use the word displeased. Rivulets of dirt streamed over her cheeks, and her glove was not absorbent, so her face was an absolute mess. Cassandra dropped her shield and gratefully accepted the water skin Rylen held out to her. She pulled a cotton handkerchief from her pocket, wet it with the skin, took a drink, and then cleaned her face.

"Sneaky, Inquisitor." She said when she was done. Rylen took his skin back, and saluted the women wordlessly before wandering off. 

Irgaine opened her hands apologetically. 

"Don't you have a meeting?" Cassandra asked.

"Actually I do." Irgaine turned to the dispersing crowd. She shouted into it, "Jim? Is Jim here?"

Leliana's favorite messenger appeared out of the throng and said, "Here, your Worship."

"Would you alert the others that I will be a bit late for the meeting? I'm going to wash up." Irgaine wiped her forehead with her arm. "Shouldn't be more than half an hour." Jim nodded, and strode up the stairs to the battlements. 

\---

Irgaine walked the other way, up the stairs into the hall, to her chambers to wash and change. She filled her basin pitcher from the rain barrel outside, rinsed and dumped it to freshen the water, then filled it again and went to the stand near the fireplace. She stripped off her blouse and trousers, her smalls, and wet a thick cloth in the basin. 

She wrung it out over her shoulders, shivering as the cold water struck her, then lathered the cloth with the lemon-scented bar of soap on the stand. She washed and rinsed again, then filled the basin and dunked her head into it to wet her hair. Pulling a towel off the bottom shelf of the stand, she wrapped her long auburn locks into it, then grabbed another and wrapped it around her body. She only dripped a little on the bear skin (a joking gift from the Seeker) as she paused in front of the crackling fire to dry. 

She toweled her hair as she searched her wardrobe for something to wear. While the new... developments... with Cullen were not unwelcome, they did not come without many complications. She was prepared to let him have some space, but was too self-aware not to realize she did not _want_ him to need space. To that end, she wanted to look pretty. There was nothing she could do, she knew, to control the actions of others, especially him, but she could certainly try to use her assets to affect them. 

She was tempted to wear something low cut. But that was too obvious, of course, and maybe a little needy. Too much, she decided, and searched some more. There was a red dress, with black petticoats underneath, but that was for performing. She had a white sheath, too formal. She finally pulled out a grey cotton blouse that fell off her shoulders, a pair of black leather breeches. She put on fresh smalls, and after a considering pause, dotted under her ears with the lemon scented oil in the vial next to the soap. She rubbed her wrists over the oil on her neck, then put her towel on her shoulder to rub a bit into her hair. Irgaine picked up the rug in front of the basin, and draped it and one towel over the rails on the stand.

She regarded herself in the mirror, and went back to the wardrobe to pull out a dark green satin vest with wide straps that went over her shoulders and laces that tightened around her ribcage. When she tied it up, it pushed her breasts up a tiny bit, but the blouse kept them covered. The straps kept the blouse down off her shoulders and set off her eyes, and the overall affect of the ensemble accentuated her curves while still appearing casual. She tried to appear as though she was not even trying, even though she'd spent ten minutes on her clothes. Ridiculous. She snorted, slightly disgusted with herself. She didn't change though. 

She parted her hair down the middle and deftly braided some across her crown so it dipped over her forehead, then pinned it under to hide the end. Her hair was so fine it would be dry by the time she got to the War Room, and she pulled on soft black boots, looked in the mirror one more time, and went quickly down the stairs.

\---

Varric heaved another log onto the fire behind his desk. He sat back down and inked his quill to resume writing his letter to Daisy, but the memory of Cassandra's moans in his ear were extremely distracting. Extremely. Distracting.

He had to admit, he was glad he had been the one to go fetch Cassandra the other night. Bull offered, but when Varric pointed out how likely she was to throw the man-wall over the railing of her third floor loft, he'd stayed at the tavern and ordered another round, leaving Varric to fetch the Seeker alone. When he'd seen her in that dress, in the soft warm glow of the forges and covered in ink, something _shifted_ for him, and he still didn't remember crossing the room to her. Her chest bobbing in his face, his lips moving with hers, he remembered. 

And Andraste's heaving bosom, last night, pinning her against the forge door, her sighs in his ear, his fingers inside her. His cock twitched, and he immediately abandoned his line of thought and his letter, and closed the cast iron doors of the fireplace, then went to the tavern in search of a ridiculously stiff (no pun intended) drink. 

He went down the steps for the second time that day and the sun was setting over the mountains, washing everything in pinkish golden light. He observed the candle light coming from the window of Cassandra's loft, and could just barely see the side of her head and her elbow through the window as she wrote. He decided not to bother her; they'd certainly spent enough time together over the last few days, and he thought maybe he would let her seek him out. Tonight or tomorrow, it didn't matter. He hoped she would. But he didn't want to do anything to ruin this whatever-it-was between them. 

And so instead of marching up the stairs and kissing the Seeker within an inch of her life, Varric crossed the yard to the Herald's Rest and pushed the door open. The cacophony of a crowded tavern assaulted his ears, and Maryden played another Ferelden reel. The dance floor was swollen with people, who whirled around each other in time to the lute. He skirted the edge of the pub and sidled up to the bar. Cabot acknowledged him, then after a moment, set a mug of dark ale in front of him. Varric smiled and flung a silver on the bar, then headed to the table where Bull and Dorian sat with Sera and some of the Chargers. He'd wandered into the middle of a high-stakes game of Wicked Grace. He reflected as he sat that there was nothing better than being welcomed to a party by the clink of coin and the cheers of drunken assholes.

\---

In her room, Cassandra was making great strides on Chapter Thirteen: 

_Philippa's black gelding races across the plain with an astonishing quickness, seeming to sense her rising feeling of urgency. She knows the ritual the Tevinter Baron Zeist is planning requires the blood of a dwarf, and that Merrick somehow thwarted the man before. She had not, in fact, promised the Arl a tumble, but instead showed him the assorted scraps of notes and letters pertaining to said ritual, which would give the Baron a Stoneskin amulet. It would also kill Merrick. She is sure Bryce had explained to them how it worked in detail, but only Karaline really understood. Matters of magic just make Philippa's mind swirl._

_The horses gallop up over a rise, and in the distance there is the flicker of a fire, and shadows moving around it. They can see two figures tied to a boulder, all the way around with ridiculously wide rope, and another in a hooded robe painting symbols on their bare chests._

_Karaline's eyes flash blue again, and Bryce's phylactery glows more strongly. She says, "It's them." Philippa whispers a prayer to the Maker, grateful they arrived before the evil Zeist could start his ritual. She and Karaline ride off to the west a bit, behind the men on the boulder, and tie the gelding and Karaline's Dalish stepper to a tree downhill and out of sight of the Tevinter camp. Karaline eases her sword out of its sheath and carefully buckles her shield to her arm._

_Philippa tugs hard on her black braid, whispers, "Wait for me to strike," and drops into Stealth, creeping quickly towards their target._

_As she makes her way into the camp, she grins as she spots her best attack point. She climbs to the top of the boulder and waits for the Baron to appear, slowly, carefully, silently, unsheathing her golden blades. A breeze hisses over her, and she flattens herself against the surface of the rock to create as little visual displacement as possible._

_Soon enough, a small man in Magister robes of purple and gold approaches the boulder. He says to the man painting the symbols, "Are you almost finished?"_

_"Done," says the golden-skinned mage, knuckling his moustache at the Baron. "At your command."_

_Zeist grins and brandishes a copper dagger in his right hand. He waves it in Merrick's face, and the dwarf grins lazily, eyes drooping along the glinting blade. "It is not often," the Baron murmurs, "that one gets to vanquish his most annoying foe. I wish you could be coherent for this, you fucking stupid stonechild, so I could see your face when I gut you."_

_The Baron presses a dragon scale under the ropes on Merrick's abdomen._


	6. A Fucked Up and Violent Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The previous events at Adamant, set six weeks before Chapter One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's take a quick step back in time, shall we, and examine more thoroughly the relationship between Irgaine and Varric, and what happened between them at Adamant Fortress. Set before the events of chapter one. I don't think it would have made sense before now in the story and it will, in fact, come in to play later. If you are hardcore Tethraghast, skip it for now. Come back if you need things clarified.
> 
> Trigger warnings abound. Dubcon. Angry sex. Blood play, biting, hurt/comfort. The works. If you are in any way sensitive to sexual aggression, please skip this one.
> 
> Side note: I head canon that Cullen is checking out the Inquisitor as she steps away from the war table. When you back out of it in-game, Quiz turns around first, then Josie and Leliana, while Cullen looks down, apparently at the maps. But then he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. And wanders off looking all innocent and adorable. HE IS TOTALLY CHECKING OUT HER BUTT.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, dear reader, please enjoy. Comments and kudos are appreciated. Thanks for reading!

"Where is Hawke?"

Varric's voice cracked as his eyes darted around the courtyard. They narrowed as they looked at the Inquisitor, and he stepped forward. His voice dropped dangerously as he spoke again.

"Where. The. Fuck. Is. Hawke?" The dwarf's brandy-colored eyes drilled into hers. She saw rage, and pain, and sorrow, and something else, black and undefinable. 

Irgaine Trevelyan fought to keep control of her voice as she said, "Hawke sacrificed himself so we could come back alive." More words, platitudes, really, began to spill out of her mouth but her eyes were on Tethras as he shrugged Cassandra's hand off his shoulder and stalked away.

Trevelyan shook her head, and eyes narrowed to emerald slits as she watched Varric stalk through the ranks, barely acknowledging soldiers he elbowed or ran into as he went by them. They started to part before him in a wave, closing back around as he passed. His shoulders were slumped, and Bianca hung loosely in his hand by his side, almost scraping the ground. She shook herself, turned away from the picture of heartbreak and spoke then to the assembled Grey Wardens, offering them conscription. They accepted and her words were sad, and formal, and Stroud turned as she finished, barking orders to his men.

The soldiers began to disperse; the Seeker wandered off with Cullen and Rylen, and Dorian stalked over to Krem and the rest of the Chargers as they opened kegs of Dwarven Black with, of course, axes. Irgaine did not feel like drinking, though, and she stepped down from the dais, and left the courtyard in search of her tent. She released the pins in her sun-bleached hair. Right now her tresses were blonde, orange, and pale red, and a swath of freckles dusted her nose and cheekbones. She waved politely at people and shook their hands as was required as she threaded her way through the camp. She reached the southernmost outpost and waved at Jim, the messenger, beckoning him over to her. "Jim, I need to get some rest. Make sure I am not disturbed for the rest of the night. Tell the Commander he can post a guard, if he wants, but make sure they leave me the fuck alone."

Jim eyed her, alarmed.

She scowled at him, only a little fiercely, and he only shrunk a little under her smoldering green gaze. She said, "You may use my exact words."

She turned away then, before she could see the little upward quirk of his lips, as he went to speak to the Knight-Captain nearby, and then presumably wandered off to find the Commander. Irgaine strode to her tent, ten yards away, and pulled up the flap to go inside. 

It was dark and cool, and she shrugged out of her leathers, leaving herself in a long tunic. She finally allowed herself the luxury of a sob, and it wrenched her throat as it choked her. She covered her mouth with one hand, and pressed the heel of the other to her forehead. She could not see very far, but eventually she made her way to her bedroll to lay down. She wadded up the blanket and pulled it over her head as the tears flowed from her eyes. 

She cried noiselessly but screaming, great wretched sobs pulling her thighs to her chest before releasing, spasms of guilt and disbelief twisting her whole body until it stung, muscles tense all over. Time stood still or passed quickly. There was no way to tell.

When the worst of it passed, and she was only shaking with cold and whimpering and wiping snot off her face, she heard a voice in the middle of her tent, soft like satin. "Irgaine."

She sat up abruptly, blanket wadded at her side and a dagger appearing out of nowhere in her right hand. She said nothing, her head canted, listening. Her face was still wet with her tears as she waited, unmoving. Varric appeared, dropping out of Stealth.

He was staring at her, still holding his rage and pain, but mixed with something new. Pity? His voice shook when he spoke. "You make it hard to hate you, Inquisitor."

"Varric, I'm sor-"

_"Shut up."_

Irgaine had never heard that particular tone in his voice before. He was on the razor's edge - she had seen that look in a man's eye, heard the timbre of frantic desperation, and it always got them turned away, for fear of what they would do. She knew, from that look, that he could actually hurt her, and her breaths came faster. Her heart raced, and she leaned up onto her knees, still holding out the dagger.

He laughed bitterly. "Going to stab me, then?"

With a whoosh of powder he was gone again. Suddenly, a hand was on her wrist, pulling the dagger in her hand up to her throat. Varric's other hand clenched in the long, sun-drenched mass, and pulled her head back so hard she gasped and reared up on her knees, arching her back. The blade nicked her skin as he pulled her closer, her back to his chest. A thin trail of blood oozed down the side of her neck, over the curve of one breast, slowly stuttering down into her tunic between the pair of them. She held her breath because if she moved the dagger would bite deeper.

"Tell me." He said again in that dangerous voice, his words hot on her neck.

"Hawke wanted Stroud to lead the Wardens." Varric's fingers tightened in her hair, holding her off the blade, and she exhaled. "He said to tell you goodbye. He picked me up and physically tossed me out of the Fade."

She did not see the dark grin on his face. "Of course he did." The dwarf growled into her ear. He was so close to her now. The fingers curling on her scalp made something low in her belly tighten, even as fear rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, unintentionally throwing her head back into his grip further. He twisted her arm away from them, flicking his wrist, wrenching hers painfully. She hissed and dropped the dagger. 

He twisted in the other direction and tangled her right arm behind her back, forcing her to arch her body again. He could see into her loose tunic and watched as her nipples pebbled underneath the soft wool. The trail of blood trickled menacingly down her body.

Varric pulled her head to the side, hard, and said, "You should've left Stroud." He was breathing promises over the slim line of blood that pulsed with the beat of her heart. Irgaine's whole body stiffened.

Sweet pigfucking Maker, what was happening? She barely suppressed a moan. She was _struggling_ with what he was doing to her. Was it on purpose? But it had been so long since anyone had held her this close, too long since she'd felt that sweet agony in her core. Moisture began to pool in her smalls, and when a cold breeze blew under the tent flap, Irgaine suddenly realized she was not wearing pants. "And leave the Wardens leaderless? Exile them?"

He pushed her down then, onto her face. Her ass was in the air and her tunic ruched up a bit as she scrambled away on all fours. He followed her closely, stalking her into the corner of her bedroll. She flipped onto her bottom to sit up, and he was standing between her knees, glaring at her. The bleakness in his eyes threatened to swallow her. He said, "Hawke was my best friend." 

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then the pain and pity fled his eyes as he regarded her. There was a red trail down her tunic, slick with slowly pulsing blood. Her knees parted before him, and suddenly, shockingly, tension hung between them, coiled tight like a python. He could barely glimpse simple white cotton smalls that might have been damp. 

She started to say "Hawke--" but he stepped forward again. She started to scoot back, and she started to taste panic. Her voice broke when she said, "Varric?"

He stood on his feet over her seated form menacingly and a primal part of him reveled in the power he had over Irgaine in this moment. He wanted to kiss her, hit her, devour her, tear her apart and put her back together. Despite himself. Despite the Inquisition, despite Bianca and the Seeker and _holy shit what was that?_ his cock roared to life. Her eyes were huge, her face drained of color but for the spray of freckles and her hair a tangled mess. Her soft pink lips parted, and her breath came in short little gasps. Irgaine's blazing green eyes dropped to the bulge in his trousers. 

She could not stop the words that fell out of her mouth. "Do you want to hurt me, Varric?"

_makerpleaseyes_

He crashed into her with his full weight, and she fell on her back with his fingers digging into her thigh and him gripping her chin with the other hand to sink his teeth into her neck. His mouth worked hard at her, biting a trail that would be bruised in the morning and eliciting the most decadent moans. There was so much of Irgaine, and he was thrilled with her long limbs as they wound around him. He reached the neckline of her tunic and growled when denied more flesh to twist with his angry fingers and teeth. Varric ripped the tunic in half down the front and she yelped, startled, as he tore off her breast band and began to lave and bite at her round pale breasts with cruel strokes. She whimpered and grabbed his head, digging her nails sharply into his scalp.

Varric's ponytail bobbed up and down as he bit further along to her stomach and reached down to pull at her smalls. She felt like she was on fire, and everywhere his teeth scraped her burned painfully. He pushed on her hip, dragging his blunt nails along her side, forcing her over on to her stomach, where he used his mouth yet again, harshly, on the curve of her ass. 

_"Fuck, Varric!"_ She cried out as he kneaded and bruised her, and whimpered as he roughly shoved a finger into her aching wetness. She was so tight, he could barely get in to the knuckle. He groaned, then, and rolled her back over. His eyes were almost black with lust as he looked down at her, appraised the red-crescent teeth marks on her breasts and the way she stared up at him. Her pupils were blown out, and her face was slack with need. He grabbed the wadded-up wool blanket and roughly shoved it under her hips.

He knew as he unlaced his trousers how painful it would be for her if he just drove himself in, so he looked into her eyes and asked, "Do you _want_ me to hurt you?"

"Maker yes!" She sat up on the blanket, holding his gaze, and reached for the laces, inexpertly releasing his cock. She blinked when she realized he was still dressed, and moved her hand to the hem of his tunic to remedy it. She pulled and tugged the red satin over him, and tossed it off into the darkness. It hit the other side of the tent with a slap, and Irgaine turned back to look at him, bare-chested and dusted in luxuriant auburn hair. The thought of running her fingers through it as he tore into her had her arching her hips at him. "Varric, please..."

His shaking hands shoved the leather on his hips to his knees, and he slowly stroked her entrance with the tip of his shaft. "Say it." He grated. 

"Hurt me." The words sent a chill down his spine, and the world narrowed down to her. Her long hair seemed to shimmer in the dim light of her Mark, the ripped tunic framing her body, falling to her sides around her and she was beautiful, an offering, as she spread her long, long legs and pulled Varric down to wrap them around him.

He plunged into her, gave Irgaine no quarter as he pounded straight in, and she squealed loudly, painfully, as he pulled out and thrust in again. She almost sang with her white-hot pain and chilling pleasure, then finally relaxed and pushed against him, grinding her clit into him as his prick split her in half. It felt impossibly huge as it filled her up. Her nails scraped red rivers down his back and her muscles throbbed as they tried to make room but he was so much so fast that she was soon undone, and her walls clenched hot around him as she climaxed.

He began in earnest then, well before she was finished, well before she was prepared for more, pulling all the way out and then fucking her mercilessly, as hard as he could, impaling her on his cock while primitive noises escaped from her throat as she tried to adjust, to recover. To do something that would slow the building, blinding pulse between her legs while he took her. "Varric, Maker, fuck," she gasped. His hips stuttered into hers and he murmured into her chest, "Maker, Irgaine...." She was fucking _wanton_ , holy shit, and he licked at the cut in her neck again, this time dragging his tongue down the trail of blood between her breasts, and lapping at it, making wide pink streaks on her chest and chin. She grabbed both sides of his head, and smeared her mouth into his. This tongues tangled together without reservations and both of them ptasted copper. Lust hopped back and forth on their mouths. It mingled as Varric paused in his thrusts, finally allowing her time to adjust to his wide shaft.

She clenched and unclenched around him, drawing soft sighs and moans from his throat. He rocked his hips into hers, over and over, slowing the pace and looking into her eyes. She stared back at him, shocked at his sudden gentleness. Her eyes slid closed, and his hands roamed her body, softly this time, soothing on the bite marks he'd left. 

Her right leg wrapped around his waist, and then his left leg wove under her hips, deftly, as he rolled her up on top of him. Her knees ended up on either side of him, and she wriggled for a moment. Irgaine looked down at Varric's bare chest and began to run her fingers through the thatch of thick soft curls while he grabbed her hips, tightening his fingers hard enough for more bruises. There was something wildly erotic about marking her in such a way, and he felt his orgasm beginning to build.

Her head fell back, and his hands reached up to the still pebbled nubs on her breasts. He twisted at her nipples, called her by her holy title, and spent into her womb with a cry. She arched over him, straddling, riding him out at a gallop while his knees buckled and his eyes rolled back, drawing out his release as she found her own. 

"Fuck, Irgaine, I'm not mad at you anymore. Please!" Her cunt grasped him, rolling around him as she exerted her muscles, and she came again, cried out his name. 

Finally exhausted, they fell to the side, still joined together. They did not speak for a few minutes, but Irgaine curled around him, wrapping a leg around his waist and an arm under his neck. He sighed quietly and rested his head on her shoulder. His tears came as she gently shook the blanket out with her free hand to spread it over them. 

Varric wept for his lost friend, for all the loss Hawke had experienced in his life, for his family and Kirkwall and the Chantry and Anders, and what the fuck was he going to tell Merrill? Irgaine held him, stroked his hair, made soothing noises, and just... let him weep. 

Time stretched out and stood still again, and as they lay there, her mind drifted to one of the girls from back home, who would occasionally take a man with that look on his face back to her rooms, and fix him somehow, and send him on his way without the rage and pain in his eyes. She'd never understood Mira until now, how it could be soothing for her too, being able to offer genuine comfort in her world of false emotion. (She thought of Mira's sweet daughter, Claira, who must have grown an inch by now.) 

Varric's sorrow subsided, and they were there together for a while longer, until he said. "Thank you."

She nodded and pulled him closer. "I am so sorry, Varric."

He chuckled sadly. "I noticed." He wriggled his hips. He was still inside her, and she gasped. "We should probably discuss this."

"Or never mention it again. I'm sure someone will get stabbed." She looked into his eyes. "Cassandra will kill me."

He frowned at her, but nodded. "And I don't want to spend the rest of the Inquisition hiding from its Commander."

He moved to get up but she held on to him, so he paused, staring at her. She said, "But you're already here?"

"And nobody's really made any... Commitments..." He continued.

"Maker, Varric, I'm not even sure he likes me."

"Oh he likes you, alright. He looks at your ass when he thinks no one sees." He dipped his head down to nuzzle her collarbone, and rolled her over on to her back again. "I suddenly get why some use the phrase 'worth the climb.'"

She laughed. "I had a friend once who said that."

"Really, about you?" He took one of her nipples in his mouth and teased it, and she sighed softly. He gently moved his shaft around her walls, and her hands reached down to grab his backside.

"Are you asking me about ex-lovers while you're _inside_ me?" 

"No better time, I say." He pumped a little harder and put his hands down on either side of her to kiss and nip at her chest and stomach. "You don't have to answer, you know."

She gave a little cry as he sped up, and dug her fingernails into him. "Right now you can ask me anything you want, Varric, just go a little faster."

Her red-blonde hair was splayed around her like a halo, and he swore her mark pulsed behind him in the dark with his every stroke. He obliged her and sped up again, and asked, "So was it about you or not?"

"It was." She laughed and pulled his head up, arching her neck down to kiss him.

"What was his name?" He asked.

"Mm." She said. "Let me roll over."

He thrust harder into her a few more times, and she tightened around him, throwing her head back with a soft groan. "His name? Come on, Irgaine."

"Fine," she gasped up at him, " _Her_ name was Ingrid. My family did business with --oh!" the notion of her with a woman, a Dwarven one at that, had Varric flipping her over, and nudging his cock at her core again before sliding back into her. She was still wet with his spend, so he fell into her easily and began to ride her gently. 

"Tell me," he said, smacking her once on the ass.

"Did business with the Carta, and she was one of their spies. Oh, yes, there." He'd found a spot inside her with his cock and she whimpered beneath him, so he focused on it and began to slam into her in earnest. _Thank Andraste for Dwarven stamina,_ he thought, _and for her Herald._ She keened his name and clenched around him, panting. "Varric!"

"Yes, that's it, come for me." The only sound that broke the silence for a few minutes was the wet slapping of his hips into hers, and an occasional gasp or moan from one of them. Finally the pressure of the swollen tip of him brushing that sweet place over and over became too much and she crested, yet again, violently pushing her whole body from her elbows to slam back into him, bringing him to the edge and then over as well.

He collapsed into her back, and nipped at her shoulder blade lightly. "Maker, woman, are you trying to kill me?"

"Is it any consolation that the saddle will be hell for me tomorrow?" She asked. He rolled off her, on to his back and opened his arms. They settled back on the bedroll, under the blanket. She rested her head on his shoulder, and idly ran the fingers of one hand through the hair on his chest.

"How did you know?" He asked after awhile.

"Know what?"

"Know that I needed this from you? Because I didn't."

She thought a moment before she replied. "Let's just say, I've seen the look that was on your face before. I knew what it meant. I knew it had to be me." 

"You must have lived a fucked up and violent life." Varric said ruefully.

"No more so than now." She smiled. "This Inquisitor business is all bullshit."

He laughed then, a deep and rich sound that made her stop worrying about him. It would take some time, but he would learn to survive without Hawke, and would not berate himself too much for his actions in the Fade, for leaving it first. For not doing something differently. Varric would hurt, and be sad, but that inner blackness had left his eyes and for that, Irgaine was deeply grateful.

"Stay," she said drowsily. "I have more stealth powder if you like, for the morning."

"I hate to say, I should probably go now." He sat up, casting his eyes around the room for his things. He shimmied back into his trousers and looked down at her entirely debauched form. Bruises crawled up her neck and around her stomach, her hair was tangled and matted and the shreds of her bloodstained tunic fell around her shoulders. "Maker, you should see yourself. You're... positively beautiful." 

"It's a shame you can't stay, you'll miss your morning blowjob." 

For once, Varric was speechless. 

The Herald of Andraste offering him head shot to the top of the list of _Things That Happened To Varric Tethras That No One Would Ever Believe,_ and he quickly shucked his boots and pants, and crawled back into the bedroll next to her, where he promptly crawled into her waiting arms and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There had been some discussion whether or not Varric is OOC in his blood play/rage fuck mode. Here's the thing; we truly cannot know another person's heart, and we cannot know what pain and grief will do to them. If you YouTube Varric's personal quest, observe the way his eyes are animated. He seems to me as though he has that sort of Woody Harrelson darkness, where he's all sweet and all, but if you push him to the limit he snaps angrily, violently, and spectacularly.


	7. Writer's Block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, if you're still here, I'm very glad. I have taken the wise words of Saphir to heart, and have decided to leave chapter six intact. I have adjusted the tags for the story to make it clearer/more efficient, whatnot.
> 
> So here is your treat, to make up for my evil tricks: some Tethraghast fluff, before we get into more twisty stuff. I have included a jest just for you, gentle reader, but please accept it in the spirit of love, and do not take offense.

Familiar sounding boots danced up the stairs to Cassandra's loft, in time to the hammers of the forge, and she could hear dishes clinking together and smell tea and were those sweetbuns? Her stomach roiled loudly and she put a hand to it as she stood up, hastily gathering her papers. One fell under the table, unnoticed. She stashed them in the locking chest and went to the stand and pitcher in the corner to wash the ink off her hands as her visitor rounded the stairs. Leliana came up to the landing holding a tray. On it, breakfast, Andraste bless her, and a bundle of papers tied together with a slip of red ribbon.

The beautiful Sister smiled at her friend and said, "Good morning, Cassandra," maybe a little too cheerfully.

She dried her hands on the towel than hung next to the basin, and eyeballed the tray as Leliana set it on the desk. The Seeker asked suspiciously, "What do you want?"

Leliana's merry laugh bounced off the rafters of the smithy, down to the first floor. It was such a rare and lovely sound that the hammers paused for a moment. They resumed as the Nightingale regarded her friend. "I brought you breakfast. You haven't been out of here in three days, and I was worried about you." She poured two mugs of tea and took a pastry. They smelled wonderful, and Cassandra grinned as she accepted a mug and took a bun for herself.

The sugar covered roll had cinnamon and honey in it, and its sweetness countered the tea, which was bitter and black as pitch, as she liked it. "This is lovely, thank you." She gestured for Leliana to sit in the desk chair, and perched herself on the lid of the trunk as she ate. "Is that all for me?" She asked, pointing at the papers.

Leliana set them on the desk. "More reports, I'm afraid. And a letter from your uncle." Cassandra sighed and took a sip of her drink. The man stubbornly wrote her every month like clockwork, telling her nothing but that he lived and all was well, and so she finished her sweetbun, dusted off her hands, took up the stack of reports and thumbed through them. Irgaine had been busy in the Emerald Graves, it seemed, which meant more work for her with the seemingly endless stream of requisitions.

And in between those, frustrating fits and starts in the middle of the battle scene, where Philippa is supposed to free Merrick, and meet Julian, and any number of things that just didn't seem to go quite right. She was tempted to write a steamy flashback scene to break her block, and had chuckled at the notion that the readers would protest even a one-time pairing of Merrick and Lorelai.

"I take it," Leliana said, "that the writing is not going well?"

"I still have ten days," Cassandra said defensively. "And Twelve is finished."

"Have you considered asking Varric for some help?"

"I had... not, actually." Cassandra brightened a bit, as she finished her tea. "Perhaps it is time to take the tray back to the kitchen, then?"

"I'm curious what you will tell him."

They strode down the stairs one after the other. Cassandra said, "I will simply ask him what he does about his writer's block."

\---

The dwarf in question was hastily scraping another note to the Steward of his house to stop dithering about drapes Varric himself would never see, and just pick some. He knew the man well enough to know to expect another letter in a week or two about the carpets. 

He set the paper on a pile to his left with his other finished correspondence. He wiped his hands with his kerchief and scowled at how dirty it was, threw it down on the desk. Varric decided he was thirsty, and put the iron walls up around the fire before starting down the great stone staircase. Cassandra was crossing the yard with Leliana, carrying a big tray with empty dishes on it. He waved at them and they smiled back before they parted, Leliana taking the tray with her past the tavern and down the stairs. 

Cassandra stood at the bottom of the stairs and waited for him. "Good morning, Varric." She said as he reached her.

"Hello. Haven't seen you for a bit." He replied, holding a hand out.

She began to walk to the tavern with him. "I have been busy." _And you can be very distracting. ___

"So what brings you outside your cave this morning, Seeker?"

She barely smiled. "I was coming to see you, in fact."

"Me? I'm flattered." He pushed open the tavern door and ushered them inside. "Something I can help you with?"

"I was wondering what you do when you get writer's block?" The Seeker said a little breathily as they reached the corner table. Maryden was seated at her usual perch and she waved at Cassandra as she sat down.

Varric tilted his head a bit and narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you're still working on the stuff from the Fade? Seeker, that was two months ago." His guts wrenched a bit as he thought of Adamant, and completely flipped over when he thought of Hawke. _I could use a drink._

Cassandra considered the best answer to his question, settling on what she hoped was a helpless shrug. He smirked. "Well you have come to the right place," he said, and strode to the bar, where he came back with two mugs of beer. "L'eau du Printemps for the lady."

She frowned at him and looked down into the hazy golden depth of her mug. "I don't understand."

Varric explained, "See, the trick is, to get drunk enough to be creative but stay sober enough that you can read your handwriting the next day. I can't tell you how many times I've been in my cups, scribbling furiously, brilliant genius shit that I am _so_ excited to read in the morning, and then when I wake I've got ten pages of chicken scratch." 

She hummed. "I suppose it is worth a try." She took a tentative sip of her pint, and let the citrusy flavor wash over her tongue. Even if it was Orlesian, the stuff was delicious.

He was surprised and pleased that she acquiesced so quickly, and sat next to her to enjoy the company and some Dwarven Black. "So if you've been at it so long, and it is plaguing you like this, why do you keep going?" Varric asked. "Surely the training dummies miss you."

Cassandra scowled at him. "I do it because I want to get better at it, and because I enjoy it. Not everyone has your way with words, you know, and many people write for pleasure."

"Just this once, I am not going to ruin a lovely sentiment with a dirty joke." He chuckled. Varric could not help but notice how quickly she let her guard down with him now. So he smiled at her and continued, "If you'd like, I could take a look at it for you."

"Absolutely not." Maybe it would be a bit of fun, to torment Varric, turn the tables on him, for once. She was not certain, though, how he would react to the knowledge that she was already a published author in her own right, in addition to being a voracious reader. 

"Oh come on, Seeker, just a peek?" He teased. If she was going to make it into a little game, he could play along. He scooted closer to her on the bench and rested his thigh next to hers. She blushed.

Now he was feeling mischievous, so he looked around, quickly, and when no one was looking, he reached up a thumb and ran it around the shell of her left ear. She tensed and bit her bottom lip. Her face got redder and she scooted away from him. "You know that's not fair."

He sighed and turned back to his beer. "You're right, of course. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize."

"I don't?"

She smiled at him then and finished her beer. "No." She strode to the bar then and got them two more pints, setting them down with a little thunk. They drank quietly for a few minutes as Maryden strummed a soft tune experimentally, repeating a few bars here and there before stopping and making notes on a piece of parchment on the bar top.

"So," Varric asked her, "Do you think this will help with your block?"

"I shall find out soon, in any case." She stood and smiled down at him, resting her hand on his shoulder to squeeze it. "Thank you for the drink."

He held his mug up. "Likewise, Seeker. See you later."

While she walked away she thought that might have been a promise. She found she didn't mind.

Varric stared at her ass as she left, admired her graceful movements. He decided to have one more pint before he went to see her. 

\---

_Zeist grinned and brandished a copper dagger in his right hand. He waved it in Merrick's face, and the dwarf grinned lazily, eyes drooping along the glinting blade. "It is not often," the Baron murmured, "that one gets to vanquish his most annoying foe. I wish you could be coherent for this, you fucking stupid stonechild, so I could see your face when I gut you."_

_The Baron pressed a dragon scale under the ropes on Merrick's abdomen. It shone in the glow of the fire behind the two mages, and as Zeist raised the blade to strike, many things happened at once. Philippa dropped out of stealth and leapt at him, throwing her full weight at him to pin him to the ground. As he fell, the taller Mage with the moustache pulled the scale off of Merrick. Karaline appeared just as three more mages in purple robes appeared in front of her friends, spinning their staves and flinging balls of lightning at Philippa._

_Philippa sprung out of the way in a fast forward flip, as Karaline slid on her knees in front of Merrick and raised her shield, barely getting it up in time to stop the electric orbs from hitting him and Bryce. The projectiles bounced away harmlessly, and Karaline got to her feet, tilting the top of her shield down to stop two quick shots of Winter's Grasp, before lunging at the closest Mage on her right with leonine grace. Her eyes glowed bright lyrium blue again as the Mage put up a barrier around himself. It did not matter, though, because Karaline raised her sword in her hand, and used her Smite to break it, then hit him in the face with the pommel to knock him out. He crumpled like a marionette with the strings cut._

_Zeist scrambled to his feet and rounded on Philippa, his eyes and hands glittering with electricity._

_Merrick's voice rang out into the night. "Now, Julian!"_

_The golden-skinned mage's moustache twitched as he planted a hand on the thick ropes that held Bryce and Merrick to the boulder, summoning fire to blast through them. Bryce slumped weakly as the Mage flung up a barrier around the three men, then raised his arms into the air with a ferocious Mind Blast that knocked all three of their enemies to the ground._

_Philippa pounced on Zeist's prone form. The small Tevinter man's hazel eyes were dazed and dirt matted in his dark hair. He tried to shove the brunette rogue off of him, but she raised her right fist and hit him square in the temple, knocking him out._

\---

When Varric finally reached the top of her stairs a little while later, he was pleased to see she was bent over her desk, her quill making that _scritch-scritch_ sound he found so soothing. She looked very intent, and he didn't want to disturb her, so he started back down the stairs. After a moment, though, he stopped and turned to look at her. The afternoon sunlight framed her dark hair in golden contrast, and he really couldn't tell if her bared teeth meant she was smiling or angry. She sighed and dusted her parchment to dry the ink, and strode to the basin to wash the it off her hands. 

He cleared his throat and she whirled to face him, startled. He smiled at her as charmingly as he could muster and she let a small laugh escape her lips before crossing the room quickly to cup his face and press her lips to his.

What started as a chaste kiss became warmer, softer, as his arms wound around her waist and hers around his neck. Their lips met sweetly and Varric splayed his hand across her back to pull her closer. She broke away first to rest her forehead on his. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah, all the ladies say that after I kiss them."

She flicked his ear with her thumb and forefinger. "Not for that, you ass."

It really didn't hurt, but he rubbed at it feigning offense. She laughed and leaned forward to kiss it. "That's much better," he said, before resting his head on her chest. It felt natural for Cassandra to turn and rest her cheek on it, and they stood like that for some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! As always, my gratitude for your kudos and comments.


	8. Important Pieces of Vellum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irgaine has returned from the Graves, and receives a letter. Cassandra gets more work done.

Irgaine tried not to look rushed as she stepped down the stairs behind her throne. The Inquisitor did not hurry. She strolled, totally in command of herself and absolutely not late for the War Council meeting. She hoped. The golden sunset began to turn orange behind the cut glass windows of the hall, and she was _not scurrying_.

When she shut the door of Josephine's office behind her, she broke into a trot, and bolted through the hallway, skipped two stairs and hauled ass up to the War Room's grand door, only a little flushed. She paused for a moment to catch her breath, and listened carefully. She heard two female voices and paused, grinning slyly and leaning her ear to the door. She could hear Josephine and Leliana, only a little muffled.

"...certainly very masculine!" Leliana said. Irgaine pictured her smirking and putting her fists on her hips. Josephine giggled and said by way of reply, "Certainly!"

"And was he not so very thorough?" Leliana asked.

"Indeed he was... He stayed for a bit after you left." Josephine giggled.

"I'm sure he did."

Cullen opened the door from Josephine's office, and gaped at the vision before him. Irgaine looked fetching with her red hair braided across her brow and flowing around her shoulders, and stood with her waist bent, comely backside out from the door. She was clearly eavesdropping, and he could not help but allow his lips to quirk up. He quietly cleared his throat and she spun, hair whirling about her in a wide strawberry arc. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a squeak, and frantically gestured for him to come to the door. He tilted his head as if to speak, and she mouthed, _don't you dare!_

He smiled widely at her then and shook his head. She widened her eyes and gestured at him again, this time pushing her hands out, flicking her fingers at him twice. Count to twenty, she meant. She turned and opened the door, and Cullen hurriedly moved off to his right, hiding in the huge shadow it cast.

Irgaine winked at him saucily, and bit her bottom lip before she went through. 

The room was lit with the brilliant orange and red of sunset, the light glimmering off another wall of cut glass panels. Josephine held her candle board in front of her, and Leliana was using her pocket flint to light the remaining candles and sconces in the room. She hummed as she went, a few bars of "Turn Back, O Man," and grinned at Irgaine sidelong as the redheaded Herald strolled up to the great table between them. 

"Good evening, Lady Nightingale." Irgaine smiled back at her. "Lady Montilyet."

"It is good that you are early, Inquisitor. There is a personal matter that must be brought to your attention." Leliana held out a thick piece of vellum. It bore the seal of Bann Luther Trevelyan, of Ostwick. She sighed softly and opened it.

_To the Lady Irgaine Trevelyan,_

_Daughter, imagine my shock and sadness to hear of the explosion at the Conclave. And imagine my further dismay to find that you had not only survived the event, but somehow actually been named Andraste's Herald? Did you not think this information might somehow be important to us? Mira has been downright sick with worry, and your mother won't play any dance music in the evenings anymore, so The Bluest Eye is practically empty during the week. Claira mopes about with Sentinel, and it is difficult to discern which one is the child and which the actual mabari pup. The remaining girls graze the gossip rags of Orlais and Ferelden, digging up scraps of information about you. Your brothers make a good show of running things in your stead, however, I have tired of waiting for word from you and so here I sit, in your office._

_I am spitefully using your Orlesian vellum._

_We are preparing to journey to Skyhold on the morrow. We have much to discuss, including the affairs of the family. I will be bringing a small squad with me, and Claira, Sentinel, and your brother Gareth. I look forward to seeing you alive, and to scolding you in person as you deserve._

_Luther_

Irgaine scanned the letter again. "There is no getting out of this," she said, almost to herself. "A week or less, depending on the weather."

"That is my assessment, yes." Leliana said. "Is there anything we should know?"

The door swung open again and the Commander appeared, still a little rosy-cheeked from seeing Irgaine in the hallway. She turned to him and gave a little wave before turning back to Leliana. "Accommodations for twelve to fifteen. I assume Claira and Sentinel will want to stay with me. My father and Gareth can share the large room next to Varric, and I hope there is space in the barracks for a small squad? We should also see Dennet about sheltering the horses. Warn him my Lord Father will want to pick the brain of the finest horse master in Ferelden. Gareth and his squad may want to see drills. So, we treat them as any other visiting dignitaries."

"Did you just say your _Father_?" Cullen said incredulously. He took his place across from Irgaine at the table, and she handed him the parchment. While he read it, his face drained of the pink blush and started to look a little clammy. "He sounds a lot like you." He managed weakly.

"He is," Irgaine japed, "I'm just prettier."

Josephine and Leliana laughed and Cullen rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm sure we have more important things to attend to than an impending family visit. I can hyperventilate later." Irgaine turned to Josephine. "So what is the progress on elevating the DuParaquettes?"

\---

_Merrick springs off the boulder and tackles the Mage on Philippa's left, knocking his staff away and driving fists and feet into the other man's stomach and legs. Meanwhile, the Mage with the overly fancy moustache spins his staff in an arc and a barrage of fireballs twirl at the last enemy standing. The man flings a barrier around himself and runs off into the night, and the Mage -- his name is Julian? -- turns to Merrick and says in a haughty, delicately-accented voice, "You should have mentioned you had more friends coming. I would have worn my best robe."_

_"And spoil the surprise?" Merrick quips. "I would never."_

_Philippa looks up from the Baron, and glares at Merrick. She deftly flips the Mage over and ties his wrists behind his back with a strip of his own robes, then rips off two more to bind his eyes and mouth. When she is satisfied with her work, she drags him over to the boulder, and sits his body against it. She glares at Merrick and stalks off into the night._

_Karaline stands, and her upper lip is split. She staunches the blood flowing from it with her right hand and walks to Bryce, who is shaking his head trying to clear the cobwebs. The blood leaks into her glove, and Bryce reaches up to cup her left cheek. She looks down at him and begins to probe him with her hands, checking for injuries. He swats her hands away and she pulls a lyrium potion off her belt. He drinks it quickly, makes a face, gags a little, but then stands up and cups her other cheek. His hands glow pale green as he heals the cut on her face. It knits together quickly, but a small white ridge is left on the right side of her upper lip. Bryce runs his thumb over it, wiping away the blood. "Best I could do."_

_***_

_Philippa goes back to the stand of trees where the horses are tied, and fishes her whetstone and oilcloth out of her bag. She sits with her back to one of them, and begins to clean and polish her daggers. There is a fist clenched around her heart, and she does not know if it is because she is going to kill Merrick or if it is because he still lives._

_"You know, Ranger," Merrick says from behind her, "I had all this under control."_

_She does not turn around, instead continuing to sharpen her knives._

_"Ranger?"_

_She is silent._

_She hears him turn to walk away, and her guts wrench. She pulls her knees to her chest, says, "I wasn't playing a card."_

_He stops and she hears his quick intake of breath to start speaking, but she holds up a hand. "Do you know why I never--" her voice breaks and she stops._

_"I---." Whatever he is about to say is silenced when she turns, still sitting, to face him. Her eyes glitter in the moonlight and her brows are drawn together in a scowl. He takes a step closer, then another. "Why you never what?"_

_"Never mind." She whispers._

_"Maker's balls, Ranger."_

_She turns around again, spinning on her backside. He takes the final two steps to her, and grips her braid at the base of her neck, pulls her head back. The tears she's been holding in spill from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks into her raven hairline, and the only things keeping her face even are years of training and a stubborn streak a league wide. Still holding her hair, he moves around to stand in front of her. Her arms are limp at her sides, her daggers forgotten. He loosens his grip, and she picks her head up to look at him, a thunderstorm glaring at a mountain. She says, "I have forgotten how to hate you, Merrick."_

_"I couldn't hate you, even when I wanted to, Philippa." When he says her name it is a caress. He pulls her closer to him, and his lips graze the trails of her tears. They brush her jaw, and she whimpers, tries to pull away but he holds her fast. "Dammit, Ranger, listen to me._ I love you, _you foolish woman."_

_Her mouth falls open in a half-sob, and her knees and arms fall open and then close around him. They kiss, for the second time, and it is perfect. When they finally come apart, gasping for air, she says, "I love you, too, and I could not bear it if I lost you."_

\---

Cassandra rubbed tears from her face, and took a sip of her tea. It was ice-cold and she grimaced. She could not reread what she had written just now, as she had just poured herself out onto the page. The thought made her shiver; all of Thedas reading the secret contents of her heart. But it would burst, she thought, if she did not release them. She shook herself and stood, blowing out the candle stub next to her. She went to the basin in the corner and laid out the washrug. 

No hammers clanged on the main floor of the smithy, but she went to the railing anyway, to see if anyone lingered. There was no one, so she went back to the basin and stripped off to wash with the elfroot scented soap. She lathered and rinsed, even rubbing the soap through her hair and the long tail of her braid, before dunking her head in the basin and wringing her sponge out over herself to rinse. She dried her hair and rebraided it, and grabbed the first piece of clean clothing she saw, a dove grey dress with an Orlesian cut that hugged her rib cage and fell in soft gathers around her waist and then loosely around her legs. She smirked as she pulled on red slippers, and then she dug into the back of the bottom drawer of her washstand.

With a triumphant grin, she pulled out a small pouch. Cassandra opened it, used the tiny brush and pot, and lightly rouged her lips. She took a piece of scribbled vellum off of the pile of kindling, and folded it in half ink over ink, used it to blot them. 

_Armored Andraste, I am an idiot,_ she thought as she went down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a moment and thank you, gentle reader. Right now I am at almost 1000 hits! Thanks for reading!
> 
> My gratitude is only outweighed by my desire to entertain.


	9. Aren't We A Merry Bunch?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It gave me a chuckle when I read the request left in the comments, because I was actually working on that very thing. So instead of a reply, I just waited until this big old beast of a chapter was finished. It's a pretty long one, as I wanted it to be clear that these are all the events of one evening.
> 
> Maryden's tavern song, this time, is a mildly modified version of Tom Lehrer's "The Irish Ballad." I'm sure you can find it on YouTube if you are so inclined. He's worth looking into, if you're a Weird Al sort of person. Lehrer is to modern music what Feynman is to modern physics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we discuss a few things, and some naughty fun is had.
> 
> NSFW

The Herald's Rest bustled.

Cabot walked through the the bar with a big tray of beers, held up on his left hand over his head. It went over anyone who was eight hands high, but anyone taller than that risked a shiner as he rolled though the bar at three-quarters speed. He knuckled his moustache at the big group of Templars he barreled through to bring three more pitchers of lager to the table that held The Iron Bull, a few of his Chargers, Lace Harding, Varric, and Dorian. "Oi!" Cabot shouted over the din and music. "Two silvers!" 

Varric threw three silvers onto the tray as Cabot rearranged it, trying to find a good balance to maneuver through the rest of the outskirts of the crowd. He danced around an arm-wrestling match between two mages (seriously, what for?) and dropped a pitcher at the table of craftsmen before rounding up the stairs. Sutherland and his party got a pitcher, and he dropped the remaining one at Sera's door, rapping on it sharply then running back downstairs in fear; better to send that one a bill. He pulled a mug of Dwarven black off the keg and marched around to Maryden. She nodded gratefully as he set it next to her, and trilled a flourish on her lute. "And here, dear friends, is a song for a man that provides intoxication!" She strummed a steady beat on her instrument, and soon the drummer and harpist picked up the rhythm and key, and she began to sing.

_About a maid, I'll sing a song, sing rickety tickety tin, about a maid I'll sing a song, who didn't have her family long. Not only did she do them wrong, she did everyone of them in, them in, she did everyone of them in..._

Cabot chuckled and began refilling pitchers, and hustling them up into the well for the tavern girls to distribute. The door swung open, and the Lady Seeker let it slam shut behind her in a puff of cold air. Even he had to admit she looked lovely. Red lips and red shoes in contrast to the clinging curves of her dress. Her cautious grace belied her wariness as she walked quickly to the bar. Cabot smiled at her, and she at him, and the casual observers around the high top marveled at the sight. The barkeep slid a mug in front of the Seeker, and she peered down into it and smirked. He slid a sip of the gold-flecked Marcher liqueur at her too, and she put a silver down. He bit it as she downed her sip, and nodded. She placed another silver on the bar.

The business of her tab settled, she picked up her mug and tried to sneak up on Varric.

As she crept up behind him, she saw her reflection in The Iron Bull's eye, and the dwarf's winning grin before he whirled. "Hello, Seeker."

_And served him up as Fereldan stew, and invited the neighbors in, bors in, invited the neighbors in._

"Hello." She said breathily.

Varric looked her up and down, and gave a low, appreciative whistle. "You should wear dresses more often, Seeker." Cassandra blushed a little and sat down on the bench across from Bull.

_The water tasted bad for a week, so we had to make do with gin, with gin, we had to make do with gin..._

The giant Qunari eyed her appreciatively, and let his eyes linger a little too long on her chest. "Looking good, Cass." He smirked at her, and boomed, "More Marcher Uager!!" She accepted another sip of the gold-flecked liqueur from the tavern maid. "Last one," Cassandra said, her accent thickening.

_And when at last the Templars came by, her tragic tale she did not deny. To do so she would have had to lie, and lying she knew was a sin, a sin, and lying she knew was a sin. And lying she knew was a sin._

\---

Blackwall was in the stables curry combing Heroine, the mottled Ferelden Forder that had taken a shine to him. He ran his hands down her legs and they were hale and strong, under her belly thick with muscle, and then along her spine. She was a good horse, hardy and sweet.

A young man in a green hooded uniform approached the stables and saluted. Blackwall said, "Something you need?"

"Sister Nightingale and Lady Montilyet ask that you report to the War Room at your earliest convenience." The young man said, and bowed before he turned away. Blackwall sighed and ran a hand through his long dark hair. He would not say he had been avoiding them, so much as he would say they had not crossed paths in the last many days. His living space in the stables was far away from the day to day ramblings they did in their work, and neither woman had been down to the pub either.

He suspected he knew the nature of their request, and was emphatically not looking forward to the impromptu meeting. He contemplated staying in the stables and hiding, but he knew the women would eventually have their way. He chuckled to himself at his choice of phrasing and began to cross the courtyard to the stairs.

When he reached the door to the War Room, he could hear Josephine and Leliana laughing on the other side. It was a good sign, the thought as he opened it.

They turned to look at him, and Josephine practically beamed at him over the dripping candle on her clipboard. Her dress must have been new, and it was cut in Marcher style, cap-sleeved tight red bodice coming to a point in front, over flared red-slashed gold skirts. Leliana of course wore her customary hooded armor and a more predatory grin.

"Good evening, Ser Warden," Josephine said, still smiling.

"Good evening, Lady Montilyet," he bowed slightly at her, and then at Leliana. "Sister Nightingale."

"Thank you for joining us so quickly." Leliana began, "We are most grateful for your time."

"How may I assist you ladies this eve?" He was not sure, but maybe they were a little uncomfortable. Hence the formality.

Leliana sighed. "It is a small matter. However, it is one that requires your direct and discreet attention."

"I have informed Leliana that you stayed with me for a bit after she left." Josephine said.

He had the good grace to flush a little and look sheepishly over at Leliana. "I did not mean to overstep."

"And therein the problem." The Nightingale stated. "How could you know if you did, if I did not tell you?"

"I suppose I could not."

"And so you see, I have a bit of difficulty." Leliana paced around the giant table, running a fingertip along the map and looking down at it. She shook off her hood as she passed Josephine, and ran her other hand across a golden cheek. The two women kissed, a gentle brush of lips, and Leliana paused. "No wonder why."

"I completely understand." Blackwall managed, face expressionless. 

"But you did not do anything I would not have done," she continued reluctantly. "In truth, my leaving could be interpreted as tacit permission."

Josephine looked at her and smiled triumphantly. Leliana patted her shoulder. "Yes, my darling, you're right. However, if Josie agrees..."

"Oh I do!" Josephine said, and leaned into her, and put an arm around her. Leliana laughed. "Ser Blackwall, would you like to join us for drinks?" \---

When the trio arrived at the Herald's Rest, Maryden was finishing up her first set. She trilled her lute and said loudly, "I shall return in an hour's time. Until then, enjoy your night!" The slightly tipsy revelers applauded as she took her leave. There was a table on the second floor, in the corner round the other side of Sera's chambers, which they went to with a plate of skewered goat to snack on and a pitcher of red wine punch.

Blackwall, Josephine, and Leliana sat around the table and stared at each other. It was as awkward as a hard on in the Chantry, because all any of them could think of was their previous debauchery.

Of course Josephine broke the silence. "My, aren't we a merry bunch!" She filled their cups and took one, and settled back in her chair.

At that they all laughed, the miserable moment broken. Blackwall spoke first. "I am sorry, Leliana. I truly did not intend to offend you." He grabbed a cup as well, and took a quick sip.

"It's true I was upset at first, maybe a little angry, but really, I meant what I said." The Nightingale affirmed in her pretty lilting accent. "I don't think anyone would be strong enough to resist, left alone in a bed with Josie."

"Maybe Dorian." Blackwall chuckled.

Leliana laughed then, a careless, delicate twinkle. It bounced up through the rafters and Cole appeared.

"Talks and negotiations, a contract of necessity but an act of love, knowing things will end and someone to care for her, my beautiful gilded lily guarded by a bear..."

Blackwall and Josephine stared.

"Thank you, Cole, that will be all." Leliana said.

Cole waved his hand. "They won't remember. But you will. You'll care, enough for her, enough to let her go. But it will hurt and I won't be able to help."

"I know."

Cole disappeared.

Josephine filled the cups and said cheerfully, "My, aren't we a merry bunch!"

\---

Irgaine sat, cross legged, on her balcony, letting the rough mountain wind roll over her, cutting into her, chilling her to the bone and reddening her cheeks. Her cheeks matched her hair as it whipped around her in swirls growing up into the air around her head, and it tangled into itself. 

She should have written to her father long since. He was absolutely right, and she felt like a shitheel. But now was such a bad time for a visit! The negotiations in Val Royeaux approached rapidly, and she wanted to prepare. Her family would be a distraction. A welcome one, but all the same. That was the thing about Luther, and about herself she supposed. Neither of them were good at taking no for an answer, so they rarely gave anyone a chance to say it. And so her family would arrive soon enough.

In her mind she listed all the things that needed to be done. Quarters would have to be appointed. Would her lord Father share with Gareth? Or should they be given separate rooms? _If I had just spent weeks on the road camping with either one I would want my own._ She would need to have another washstand brought up for Claira, and probably Sentinel would need a bath. What would they do while she worked? The mabari of course would not leave her side, but she would need to find things for the others to do. She stood up and pulled open the balcony door.

Cullen was standing at the top of her stairs, holding a stack of reports.

"Been there long?" She asked as she shut the door and walked to her desk.

He smiled at her, and his scar quirked up his lip in that extremely sexy way it had. "Not long." He crossed the room to her and set down the papers. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him. Her arms went around his waist and she sighed. He murmured, "Hello," and pressed his lips to her temple.

"You're not wearing your armor." She said before burying her face in his neck. Instead he wore a simple brown tunic and trousers. His arms closed around her and he radiated heat. "Mm. Lovely." They stood there for a few moments, listening to the crackling of the fire and holding each other. When she was finally warm, she asked, "So what brings you up here? Are those more letters to reply to?"

"No, those are copies of last week's requisitions." He explained, "I've been thinking about you all day, but it was, as you know, one thing after another after another. When the last messenger left, I found a few minutes to come see you."

She grinned up at him, "Cullen, did you bring these so people would think we were working?"

"I may have." He replied. He might have been a little smug, but he didn't say anything else, just ran his hands into her long silken hair, gently working out some of the tangles.

Cullen's warm brown eyes looked into hers, and she said, "Well, now that you have me here, what are you going to do with me?"

The same possessive smirk she was used to seeing on the battlements crept across his face.

\---

Maryden began a new set with a few more upbeat, danceable tunes, and Varric didn't see Cassandra anywhere. Which was a shame, he admitted to himself, because he would definitely like to admire her more. Perhaps up close.

A flutter of grey skirts caught the corner of his eye, and he looked up at it, to the second floor. _There she is._ She was attempting to dance along to the song, and Sutherland was trying to teach her, with an arm around her, and a hand on her waist. The man spun her around, and he got a glimpse of long muscled leg. She laughed at something he said as he spun her around again. That tore it. He finished his beer, slammed the mug on the table, and ignored Bull's knowing look as he strode up the stairs.

They were on the final steps of the reel, and as they clasped hands in front of them, they whirled apart with their hands over their heads, and their feet tapped in time as they gracefully evaded a nearby table. The song ended, and Sutherland spun Cassandra away from him with a flourish. She lost her balance and started to fall just as Varric reached the top of the stairs. He quickly caught her hand in his and pulled her back to her feet, and her arm around his shoulders. 

"Having fun, Seeker?" He asked casually, eyeing the young recruit maybe a little threateningly.

Sutherland backed away a little, his palms up. "I was just teaching her to dance, Master Tethras."

"And I sincerely thank you, Master Sutherland." Cassandra said, steering Varric back down the stairs, arm still draped across the dwarf's shoulders. "Another time, then."

Varric shot a look back at the boy and met his eyes. He could not help the triumphant grin on his face.

She released him as they went down the stairs. "I think you frightened him, Varric."

"Good." He grunted. 

"Are you... Upset?" 

"Only because he was looking at you like you were a pie he was about to steal." He kept walking past the bar, and she followed him out. When the door shut behind them, he continued, "Though I understand why. You're a vision tonight, Seeker."

She blushed and regarded him for a moment. "Let me walk you back to your quarters."

\---

Cullen pulled Irgaine down on to the couch into his lap, where her legs settled on either side of his hips. They had been kissing for some time, his blood was racing, and she tasted too good to tear his lips off of hers. Her skirt ruched up around her hips and his hands wandered down to the curves of her ass. He squeezed, and pulled her closer. She ground herself into him, felt his hardness through the layers of cloth, and moaned into his mouth.

The sound went straight through him, and he ran his thumbs under her thighs, slowly. He paused and released her lips, looked up in surprise. "You're not wearing any smalls."

She chuckled. "I sometimes don't. And I wasn't expecting company."

Maker help her, she would die of his fucking smirk. The humor fell off her face as he surged up, flipping her over to sit on the couch, pushed her knees apart. He mouth formed a little 'o' of surprise as he pulled her hips forward to the edge of the seat and knelt between them. "Irgaine, I want to..." He trailed off. 

He watched as her hands slowly began to drag her dress up further, revealing smooth, lightly muscled thighs. He pushed them further apart and looked up at her to meet her eyes. Her green orbs were wide, the pupils blown out, her hair draped over the back of the sofa behind her. The bodice of her dress was askew and she was lovely as she nodded and whispered quietly, "Yes, please Cullen..."

He ran and experimental finger down the outside of her folds, barely brushing her nub. She tensed and arched into his touch, drawing in a hissing breath. His blond head dipped down tentatively, planting a soft kiss above the thatch of fiery curls, before plunging his tongue in. She gasped, and he smiled as he lapped at her bud. He gently ran a finger around her opening before plunging it into her tight wetness. She tasted of plums and red wine and smoke, and it was glorious the way she moaned when he curled his finger up. 

"Oh, shit, Cullen..." His mouth was _heavenly_ and his fingers were magic as he licked and explored her. He grabbed one leg and slung it over his shoulder, and began to find ways to make her cry out. Her hands were in his hair and her hips bucked into his face and he did not care because he had never imagined he would even kiss her and now to be caressing her with his mouth was a gift he would not squander. He nipped and laved over her, taking his time and thoroughly enjoying the gasps and moans he induced.

Her grip tightened, pulling, as he finally drew her clit into his mouth, sucking and rolling it around. He added another finger and a low guttural moan escaped her throat. Her back arched again and she cried out his name, muscles clenching around his fingers, soaking them. 

She relaxed and sighed, and pulled him up to kiss him, to taste herself on his lips. 

He smirked again and said, "You'll sleep well tonight, I'd wager."

"What about you?"

"I have a meeting with Rylen at fifth bell, but I hope to dream of you."

\---

Cassandra walked with Varric up the stairs into the keep. She paused at his desk.

"These are not my quarters." He said with a chuckle.

She sighed, chagrined. "I just realized that."

He laughed then, and it was infectious. So both of them were chuckling as he said, shaking his head, "Goodnight, Seeker."

"There was," she said, "something I wished to discuss with you. In private."

"Is that so?" He turned his body to try to back her up against the desk, but she put her hands on his shoulders, and stopped him. 

"It is."

Well. 

"This way." He said. The great hall was empty, the fires out, except for the glow of embers behind Varric's desk. He led her by the hand to the door of the gardens, and turned right to ascend the stairs. His was the last door on the walkway. He pushed it open and Cassandra smiled a little when she walked in.

As soon as Varric lit the candles on the desk, the room was garish, almost too brightly colored. It was so certainly his, with paintings of many styles tacked to the walls, depicting places all around Thedas. There was a watercolor of the Hinterlands with a watchtower rising up in the background, and an oil of the Northern Hunter in Crestwood, pinned on either side of a south facing window. Over the other there was a wool blanket tacked up. It faced the sunrise, and thus was covered with the thick green makeshift curtain. In the corner under the window sat an actual Nevarran fainting couch, upholstered in patterned purple velvet. The rug was woven around the border, and in the center some image was depicted. She couldn't really make it out from her position near the door.

She looked around again, lost in the riot of color. His hand curled on her hip, turning her, pressing her back against it as he murmured, "Red lips."

"That was the matter I wished to discuss." Her head dipped down to kiss him lightly, and she said, "I have not decided what I should do." She smiled then, and the faint tinge of the rouge on his cheek. She brushed it off with a thumb.

He shuddered. "What you should do with your lips?"

She hummed and pushed on his shoulders, backing him up to sit in the armchair in the other corner, a garish Orlesian monstrosity of gilded and ornately carved wood, covered in wide striped silk. She looked down at Varric sitting in it, thinking that it actually suited him. A lazy smile crossed Cassandra's face and she hitched up her skirt to straddle his knees. Facing him in his lap, she tilted her head, and her red lips grazed his ear. "This?"

Varric exhaled slowly. He rested his hands on her waist. "Sure."

She carded her fingers through the hair on his chest, and kissed a trail down his neck. "Or this?" She murmured, settling her hips against his. His hands reached up to grasp her face, his mouth capturing hers, smearing the rouge. She moved against him, slowly, making small circles with her hips as they kissed. Soon enough his desire made itself known. She leaned over, whispered into his ear, "Tell me if you wish me to stop."

She slid her long legs from around him and bunched the hem under her knees as she settled on the floor in front of him. She laid her palms on his thighs and slid them up to his belt. She risked a look at his face. Shock warred with arousal, and his mouth hung open as he stared at her. _Is she really going to--_

Her deft fingers slid the buckle of his belt loose, untied the laces of his trousers. At the first brush of her fingertips against his skin Varric's knuckles tightened on the arms of the ridiculous chair. He sucked in a breath as she tugged at his smalls, then whimpered when she gently hooked a finger under the base of his cock to free it. She bit her too-red lips as she looked at its hot hard length, then looked back up at him questioningly.

The sight of Cassandra's face, lips rouged, hovering over his exposed cock, forced a low groan from his lips. He leaned back in the chair and she gripped him at the base, before lowering her head and plunging her mouth over him. Her tongue grasped him, whirling around the shaft before dragging it on the underside of the tip to pull it into her mouth and suck.

"Sweet fucking maker," he breathed. Her mouth continued its tender ministrations, slowly, carefully up and down and it was marvelous. His hands were in her hair, and she let him guide the pace as much as she could, taking in as much of him as she could, hollowing her cheeks. Varric's control was slipping, and he gave over to it, let her fuck him with her mouth, watched her lips wind around him, reveled in the sweet heat and wetness. Words were escaping him, and half formed mutters of praise, and she finally brought him to the edge. 

She sped up, as fast as she was comfortable with, and increased the pressure, teasing around his shaft with the sides of her tongue and it was more than he could take. He came, hard, spending into the back of her throat with a cry. _"Cassandra!"_

She kept him in her mouth, easing him down from his climax, gently suckling to draw it out. He gasped and shuddered, then whimpered again as she looked up at him, finally releasing him and delicately wiping a drop of fluid from her lips. She stood and smiled, a wide, satisfied grin.

"Andraste's ass, Seeker," he growled when he could finally speak again, "where did you learn to do that?"

Cassandra chuckled. "Do you really want me to answer that, Varric?"

\---

The bells were ringing Fifth when Cassandra opened the door from the gardens to the main hall. She was looking at the ground, smiling and letting her fingers drift across her newly bare lips. In her mind she heard again every gasp, every moan, every, _Seeker, please, every _Maker, don't stop.__

And so she didn't notice as she barreled into Cullen and lost her balance for the second time that night.

He grunted and reached out to grab her hand and quickly pull her upright. Cullen peered at her flushed face, then looked back at the door she'd just exited. Cullen smirked at her and said, "So. The rumors must be true. You and Varric."

To his surprise (and dismay) she shot back, "You're one to talk. I know Irgaine has a mirror up there. She let you leave with your hair like that?" His hands instinctively shot to his mussed-up head and the Seeker laughed as she strode past him, out of the hall and down the stairs into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aha, the reason I had her rouge her lips in the first place. I'm not super happy with the scene between Cullen and Irgaine, but instead of beating my head against a wall, I figure, ever onwards. 
> 
> As for prompts, yes I will take them, if I can get them to fit. Otherwise they'll end up as standalones I guess?
> 
> Until next time, I thank you, gentle reader.


	10. The One Who Should Apologize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we have to deal with some...stuff. And some things. And we're not actually done with it. So don't be angry, gentle reader. If you ship Tehthraghast like UPS, swing back in a bit, because evil chapter six has reared its head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the beginning bits are amusing; I totally spent like half an hour running the ramparts at Skyhold with my 2H warrior quiz. Again, big shippers, I'm sorry, but this is where the story needs to be for right now. I won't be mad if you want to come back later.

_The sun shines over his head, and Varric is standing in a field of poppies. He looks around, sniffs. Reaches his hand out to touch one, and the field fades away and Irgaine stands in front of him, in faded combat leathers. The is a small gash on her neck, and it bleeds slowly down her chest, disappearing into her shirt. She turns around and walks away, and he follows her, grabs her arm. The woman turns to face him, and it is Cassandra, peering at him with her eyes narrowed. She takes his hand and leads him along a grassy path next to some trees. He is sitting on a bench with her now, and she is Irgaine again, still bleeding, hair mussed and loose. She says, "If that is something you really want, Varric."_

Varric sat bolt upright in bed, out of breath, and clutched his head. _Maker's balls! What the hell was that?_

\---

Irgaine woke early that morning, a small smile playing across her lips. She had arranged to train with Cassandra that morning, instead of sparring at Third as they had been recently, because of the litany of things she had left to do before her family arrived. So she rolled out of bed and pulled on some soft, fawn-colored leathers and boots. She pulled her loose sleep braid out of her hair and retied it, then went down the stairs and out the door, crossing the Hall to the rotunda. 

Solas was asleep, and a few of the keep's cats were curled up on him as he lay sideways on the chaise against the wall. One curled around his head like a turban, two pooled around his middle, and the one by his feet was awake, golden tilted eyes regarding her suspiciously. She suppressed a chuckle, so as not to wake him, and opened the door to the ramparts. 

Cassandra was already there. The Seeker's short black hair and braid were mussed, and she dressed in her cotton sparring blouse and leathers. The wrinkle from her pillow stuck crossways from her scar on her left cheek, and her eyes were red rimmed, but she smiled at the younger woman. "Right on time, Herald."

Irgaine wrinkled her nose a bit at the title. "Please, Cassandra," she began.

Cassandra held up one hand. "Sorry. It is early."

"Forgiven."

"So," Cassandra said. "We start at the door to the Commander's office. Though the towers, down the stairs, past the dummies and back up through the towers to the door again."

"Are we just running, or did you want to race?" Irgaine asked. The sun began to peek over the mountains, bathing Skyhold in pink-gold light, and the Inquisitor walked to Cullen's office with a purpose. She rapped on the door with two knuckles and opened it. Cullen was not at his desk, so she turned to the right-hand door, and Cassandra followed her through it. 

"A race, then?" Cassandra said, smiling and resting her hand on the door. She leaned forward slightly, preparing to sprint. Irgaine followed suit. Her eyes traced the keep, and she chuckled as her friend said, "Go!"

They blew through the first two doors, and Irgaine let Cassandra take the lead, hoping pushing on the heavy doors would slow her down. They didn't, of course, and Cassandra was halfway down the stairs as she emerged from the second tower. A smile spread across her face as she leapt up on the stone railing, and ran across to the roof of the tavern, where she ran at an angle, leaping over the side and onto Sera's balcony. She jumped down to the ground, a few yards in front of Cassandra.

"That's cheating!" The Seeker grunted behind her, closing the gap between them. The woman was fast! They raced back up the stairs, side by side, pushing and jostling each other as they rounded the turn. Irgaine giggled and took the stairs two at a time. She was in the lead when she turned left near the Mage's Tower, the Seeker closing in on her, and she sprinted across the parapets and down the stairs to the next tower, hauling open the door.

As fast as she could, Cassandra right on her heels, she ran through the final tower. The door to Cullen's office stood open, but now that the sun was almost up, she couldn't see inside. The Seeker caught up with her three steps before the door and they raced through it at the same time, barreling into poor, unsuspecting Jim, who was knocked to the floor underneath the two sweating women.

They all fell in a heap, a cluster of arms and legs everywhere. Jim looked up at the ceiling. "Maker, if I'd known I would start my day with two beautiful women on top of me, I would have prayed harder last night."

Irgaine and Cassandra laughed. Cullen's curly blond head popped out of the loft. He was holding a razor in one hand, and the right side of his face was still covered in foam. "Maker's breath, what is going on down there?"

Cassandra sat up, and rubbed her back ruefully. "We were racing," she said, as if that clearly explained everything. She looked over at Irgaine, whose mouth hung open as she stared up at him.

Cullen hadn't fixed his hair yet, and it curled tightly around his scalp. He was shirtless, and thick muscle coiled over his shoulders and down his arms, across his chest under a fine sprinkling of blonde hair. The man was devastatingly handsome and just then seemed to know it as he flashed that Maker-damned smirk at her. He backed away into his room, chuckling at the whole situation.

Irgaine snapped her mouth shut and stood, offered Jim a hand up. "I'm so sorry about that! Are you hurt?"

"I'm just fine, your Worship. More surprised than anything." He turned to holler up into the loft. "Is there anything else, Commander?"

"There always is." Cullen called back down. "But not right now, thank you."

Jim adjusted his hood, askew from the hard landing, bowed to the ladies, and took his leave.

Irgaine turned to Cassandra, smiled, and said, "Again?" \---

After a good long run around the keep with Cassandra, Irgaine went to her quarters to wash and dress in her now customary uniform of off shoulder blouse, vest, and leather trousers. She braided her long, sun-streaked hair into an intricate looking bun, and strode down to Josephine's office.

"Good morning, Inquisitor." The Ambassador said cheerfully.

"And the same to you, Lady Montilyet." Irgaine replied. "Are we ready for our visitors?"

"We are." Josephine affirmed. "Your father and brother have rooms prepared over the gardens, down the hall from each other, and Ser Blackwall is finished with the washstand for the little girl. She is your niece?"

"Second cousin," Irgaine corrected. "My mother's sister's daughter's daughter."

"So, your niece, then, will just make it easier," Josephine smiled. "I will have him bring it up to you later today. Commander Rutherford has found some room in the barracks for your father's men, and Dennet is... beside himself, I think, waiting to talk to someone besides Blackwall about horses."

"Josie, thank you so much for your efforts. I know it's short notice, and you've been so gracious." Irgaine smiled back at her. "Perhaps, if the funds are available, you should order another case of that Antivan red you favor?"

"And now it is you who is so gracious. Thank you, for your kindness, Irgaine." Josephine's smile was broad and beautiful, and only faded slightly as she continued. "Also, perhaps today we can discuss New Haven? I have a few ideas, and the Commander has suggested a few land modifications that would make farming easier. Leliana's eyes and ears there say the people there are getting restless."

"That's not entirely a surprise. Yes, please do add that to the agenda." Irgaine nodded. "Third bell, then?"

"Until later." Josephine turned back to her work, and Irgaine left the room, to go visit her other companions.

The Great Hall was a flurry of activity, as Madame de Fer directed maids and messengers. Jim grinned at her and waved as he sped by on some errand for her, and others were polishing the great bronze statues against the walls. A few more cleaned the great windows behind her looming Andrastian throne, and four long tables were arranged along the walls, draped with gold and blue cloths. Vivienne herself stood in the middle of it all, looking like a cat in cream. She'd been badgering Josephine for months about decorating the giant room, and if she was not best pleased about doing it in Marcher style, it didn't show as she directed traffic. 

Irgaine strolled up to her, smiling a little. The Iron Lady spared her a glance and a small nod, and went back to her work. The Herald shrugged and waved as she moved on; perhaps this afternoon would be a better time to discuss the tailor she wanted to bring in from Val Royeaux to dress the party for Halamshiral.

She wandered past Varric's desk, prepared to give her customary wave and _"Good morning, Master Tethras,"_ but stopped when she saw the look on his face. He looked...wan, and pale, and his quill was poised over his paper but he wasn't writing anything. His eyes were bloodshot, as he looked up at her, surprised she'd stopped at his desk.

"Hello." He said, before bending his neck to peer down at the blank sheet of paper.

"Varric," she began.

"What, no 'Master Tethras?' The high and mighty Inquisitor finally deigns to speak my name?" He glared at her bitterly.

Without thinking, she reached out with her left hand, toward his shoulder. The mark pulsed and she hissed and pulled her hand away, looking at it. "Of course. I'm sorry, Master Tethras."

"Andraste's puckered asshole!" He swore, slamming the quill down onto the table. "Stop calling me that!"

"It is your name, you know." She replied. Her mark throbbed for a second, and then flared. 

"I know it is!" He shouted.

Work in the hall stopped. Everyone turned to stare at the person yelling at the Inquisitor, and Varric blanched. Irgaine turned around with an icy glare, fixed on Vivienne, who briskly clapped her hands. People scurried back to work, and the Herald turned back to the dwarf.

"I'm sure I've done something to offend you, Mas-- Varric." She said to him. "And for that I am sorry. I'll leave you to your work."

As she turned to walk towards the door to the rotunda, his hand clasped roughly around her upper arm. "No. Don't go. I'm the one who should apologize. I'm sorry, your Worship."

"Irgaine." She said pointedly.

"Then for the love of the Maker, call me Varric again." He said.

"You're right. Of course I will."

Silence drew between them. The Mark of Andraste sputtered.

"When you said, let us never speak of it, I didn't think it meant, let us never speak again." He frowned.

"That wasn't what I meant at all. I was trying to give you some space, stay out of your way." She sighed. "I guess I was wrong. I'm sorry. Are you unwell?" He was still holding on to her upper arm, and his hand curled tighter as she said, "You look like shit."

He rolled his eyes. "Trouble sleeping, is all."

"Have you tried alcohol? It works for me." She smiled tentatively down at him and shook her arm from his grip.

"A better explanation, more like trouble waking up." He paused, and changed the subject. "Hey, would you maybe want to spar with me later? I could stand to blow off some steam. It's been a long time since I fought with knives."

"I am, unfortunately, booked for the day."

"Of course you are."

"Varric, stop, okay? I know you're angry with me, and you have a right to be, but," Irgaine turned her head and noticed Vivienne watching them with interest. "Maybe we could discuss this later?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I'd prefer to discuss it now."

"Here?" She asked, eyeing Vivienne.

He sighed and looked over at the Iron Lady, who was obviously listening to them. "Best not."

Irgaine turned away from the door to the rotunda, and went to the door of the gardens to pull it open. "After you, then."

Varric went inside and the Inquisitor looked into Vivienne's eyes. The Knight Enchanter tilted her head, her expression unreadable, and turned back to her tasks, and Irgaine followed him out of the Hall. 

\---

Irgaine found herself following Varric into the Chantry. She raised an eyebrow at him as he led her behind the statue of Andraste, into a little alcove off to the side. A bench was built into the curve of the wall, and he sat down, and gestured for her to do the same. And so she did. 

Her mark thrummed. It hadn't been this active in weeks, and she stared down at it curiously. It tickled and itched, and she rubbed her other thumb across it but this time it didn't really help. Instead, she sat on her left hand and looked at her companion. Her friend. "So." She said. 

He smiled at her weakly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Maybe I'm worried more about you than me."

"That's not comforting. You've got the world on your shoulders and I'm an ass."

Irgaine smiled. "And?"

"And I should stop pouting about my stupid feelings."

"It's not stupid. It hasn't been fun for me either. I miss being friends with you."

"Hey, I didn't ignore you for two months."

"You didn't come to speak to me, in that time."

"I'm speaking to you now."

"Point taken."

Silence reigned as Mother Giselle came in. They watched as she lit the candles around the room. She paused in front of Andraste, and began to sing softly.

_Shadows fall, and hope has fled, steel your heart, the dawn will come. The night is long, and the path is dark, look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come._

Irgaine lifted her left hand from beneath her and peered at it. Its beat was steady, now, as the Mother sang. To her utter shock, Varric stood and went out into the main Chantry chamber to join her in her song.

_The shepherd's lost, and his home is far, keep to the stars, the dawn will come. The night is long, and the path is dark, look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come._

She felt compelled to join them, and so she provided harmony on the final verse.

_Bare your blade, and raise it high. Stand your ground, the dawn will come. The night is long, and the path is dark, look to the sky, for one day soon...the dawn will come._

Giselle looked at Varric when they all finished, and smiled. "I would not have guessed you to be Andrastian."

"Yeah?" He shrugged. "I get that a lot."

"But you believe?" She asked.

He answered simply, "Yes."

"Perhaps Lady Nightingale is not so wrong."

"She's not, Lady Mother." Irgaine said.

"Then, for this moment, I thank you. Master Tethras, I have misjudged." Mother Giselle extended her hand.

He clasped it in his, and said, "You have. But I have given you reason to."

"No more than any other, but for you being a dwarf. Perhaps this is the lesson the Maker wished to teach me."

"If it is," Varric said, "Then I am grateful to be His messenger."

"I think you are. Please, if you would ever like to know more about the Chant, or discuss it? I am always willing." She looked down at the floor and then back up into his eyes. "I think I might learn a few things."

"We both might." He agreed. "I would like that. But it will probably be awkward."

Mother Giselle laughed at that, as she walked to the door. "I'm sure."

"Thank you for joining me, Master Tethras, my lady Herald." She let herself out, dragging the heavy door shut behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the notion of epiphany, and because of Mother Giselle's manipulative nature and the interactions I've had with her with Elven and Dwarven inkys, this fic seemed to fit in well with my HC. 
> 
> Of course, if you have comments   
> Kudos  
> Whatever
> 
> Make it so number one


	11. Andraste and Gilded Fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Irgaine finish their conversation, and Cass finished her paperwork. People show up. Varric learns tons of interesting things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about bells and timekeeping. The bells of Skyhold ring every four hours, and first bell is at roughly six am. Second at ten, third at two, and so on. Really the only people who have clocks at the keep are the Inquisitor and Vivienne. I assume because they are so expensive. This is my headcanon because how annoying would it be for bells to ring every hour? Sounds awesome.

"Thank you for joining me, Master Tethras, my lady Herald." Mother Giselle let herself out of the Chantry, dragging the heavy door shut behind her. Irgaine would not have been surprised if she stood out there, on watch as they spoke.

Irgaine looked at Varric then, and said, "You surprised her."

"I think so."

"I think it might be a good thing."

"Definitely."

And silence again. The steady beat of her Mark was a counterpoint to the rhythm of the blood in her veins, and Irgaine went and sat on the closest pew. The wood dug into the backs of her thighs. The green pulsing light flashed across the face of the statue of Andraste, animating it frighteningly.

Varric turned from the door and took a few steps to stand in front of her. "There's a scar on your neck."

"There is." She assented. 

"Why'd you leave it? Any one of the Mage healers could have taken it away for you."

"I don't really know," she replied quietly. "Not that I would need it to remember."

"Aw, Siren, I'm flattered."

"Are you now?" Irgaine looked up at him. "You know, I've only ever had one one night stand, before you. I rode off into the sunset the next day. I'm not sure how to be friends after... That."

"I find that really surprising, coming from someone who used to sell sex for a living." He sat down next to her on the pew. 

She shrugged. "I suppose. I've never understood how people can disconnect sex from emotion. It took me some time to get over Loghain. For a while, I imagined he forgot me in a week."

"I doubt it."

She snorted and said nothing.

"Take it from me."

"I have."

"Ha ha. You're so funny."

"Yeah, I'm fucking hilarious."

"Aaand that's just your face."

"Nice, Varric, real nice."

"So did he?"

"So did who what?"

Varric sighed and scoured a hand over his head. "Did Loghain forget about you?"

"No." She frowned. "About a year after I got home from Val Royeaux, he showed up in the middle of dinner."

He whistled quietly. "Just like that?"

Her mark hummed when Varric took her hand. "Not exactly."

Varric's fingers splayed across her mark, obscuring the lights against Andraste's face. "Tell me."

"I hadn't seen him since... Since he gave me Sentinel. It had been three years, and I remember him standing in the middle of the Eye, still in his armor. He saw me across the room, and when I went over to him he said, 'Hello, Lover.' Maker, he was a handsome man." She exhaled and clasped his hand. "He would show up, periodically after that. Sometimes he would stay a week and sometimes just a night. He got called back to Weisshaupt a few years later and I haven't seen or heard from him since. I assume the Calling has taken him by now. I am comforted to know that at least I remember him as a man, not a Grey Warden, or a traitor, or the bloody Hero of River Dane." 

They sat together silently for a bit. Varric said quietly, "Thank you for sharing that with me."

"Yeah." She released his hand and stood. "Maybe next time we talk, you can tell me about the crossbow."

"Maybe. As long as there is a next time."

"Out of curiosity, are you planning about writing a book about all this?"

"Is that a joke? Of course I am."

\---

_It is dark in the camp, and Philippa is laying, nude, on her stomach in her tent. She rolls over and peers at Merrick, who has his arm over her waist. She says, "Why can't I sleep?"_

_"I have no idea," Merick replies, running a calloused palm across her bare stomach, and up over the curve of her breast. "You should be exhausted. Though I could probably go again, if you wanted."_

_"This whole Dwarven stamina thing is a blessing and a curse." She grins at him, then winces as he flicks a swollen nipple. "Not that I'm complaining, you understand. But right now I don't think so."_

_His hand lazily trails back down her belly, and grips her hip. He pushes and says, "Roll over." She complies, and is back on her stomach soon enough. She hears him get up and rustle around in his bags, before he comes back and settles next to her, on his knees off to her right side. He says as he surveys the expanse of muscle on her back, corded and lithe and finally his, "Don't be alarmed, it might be cold."_

_She hisses as he pours a trail of oil on her back, and turns her head to try to look at him. His hands move over her, slowly spreading it around. He pushes the trail of her braid over her shoulder with the back of his hand, and she smells elfroot, mint, Crystal grace, lemon. Philippa asks, "What is that?"_

_"Remember that time we double crossed each other in Antiva?" He asks as he perches himself on her ass. He's half-hard, still, and she shudders under him. He pinches her and says, "Don't tease."_

_His hands began to roam up her spine. He holds one with the other fingers loose together, running the heels up and down, and careful not to press too hard. She whimpers, and she hears the smirk in his voice as he continues, "I jumped out the window onto my horse, right? Torqued my hip, something fierce. Julian gave me some liniment for it because it was acting up."_

_She hums as his hands fan over her left shoulder, kneading at the muscles there. She wants to ask him how he knows Julian, but his work is_ exceptional _and so she turns her head to the side and closes her eyes. "Keep talking." She says._

_He switches to her other shoulder, and leans down to press his lips to the back of her neck. "Do you remember Antiva?" He grazes her ear. "I do. You looked great in that pink dress, and I would not have thought you had another knife hidden, just there." He chuckles with her at the memory. "I've never wanted to be a knife before. That was a fun job." Merrick's hands wind back down her spine, to the small of her back, kneading, pressing, turning Philippa into a puddle._

_"And I still owe you one for the business of the pirate ship. How do you even know Candy? It's too ridiculous to be possible. She told me she took you out to dinner in Val Royeaux. Something about a chevalier? And a bottle of spiced wine. It wasn't very clear. All I know is, she gave a spectacular description of your breasts." His hands rove soothingly over her shoulder and arms, and she is blissfully relaxed beneath him and his warm voice and his warm touch. Soon enough, as he talks of their schemes and misfires, he hears a soft snore. He smiles and lays down next to her, pulling her long arms around him and settling her head on to his chest. Philippa makes a sweet little noise and curls tighter around his body, and Merrick falls happily to sleep as well._

\---

Cassandra yawned and stretched, and carded her fingers through her short black hair. Finally finished! It was a good feeling. Of course Leliana would have to read it over, make sure it didn't seem too rushed. Even though the bells had just rung third, she needed to sleep off her quill induced stupor. The Seeker didn't bother hiding the papers on her desk; it was late in the afternoon, and she had finally finished the stack of reports that morning. She felt she'd earned an uninterrupted nap, and so she dragged herself over to the bedroll and lay down. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Varric rounded the stairs to her loft just before fourth, in the hazy orange light of impending sundown. Her loft as an uncharacteristic mess, and papers littered the desk and floor, two signed stamped stacks of requisitions, and another stack, next to three pages out on her desk and drying. _Hello, what's this?_

It occurred to him that he should probably not be reading what looked like the Seeker's private papers, but it didn't look like a diary, so he might have peeked at a paragraph. His warm brown eyes widened as he read. He flipped through the dry pages, shocked. It was all in her handwriting. And it was really, really good. As he scanned them, Cassandra drew in a deep breath and he jumped. He hadn't seen her there, asleep, and barely stifled a yelp. She rolled over to her other side. As he looked at the drying pages, he realized what he was reading.

Shock was the wrong word.

He'd often heard people talk about their blood running cold, but this was the first time he knew what it meant. Complete and total surprise chilled him, and he didn't move for a long moment, before gathering up the papers to put them back the way they were. Cassandra sat up, then, and was startled to see him there hovering over her desk. 

"Varric, what are you doing?" She asked sleepily. "Please don't read those."

"I'm sorry, Seeker, I couldn't help myself."

They looked at each other, him apologetic, and her irritated.

She kicked off her blankets and moved to stand up, face darkening in a too-familiar scowl. "Why are you here, Varric?" Cassandra said, accent clipped.

"I came to see if you wanted dinner. You've been up here all day. I guessed you might be hungry, or want some company. Um." He gestured at the papers. "This is my favorite story."

She was prepared for mocking, joking, cajoling. She was not prepared for him to like it. Her mouth worked open and closed, her growing anger to surprise, and the tower bells rang the three short bursts that indicated visitors. "You like it?"

"I'm not kidding. I have all the Dowagers with Blight's Redemption in them. It's... Very good." He paused. "I just. I'm trying to wrap my head around this." He looked down at the pages again. "Wait, did Merrick and Philippa finally get it together?"

"Would you like to read it?" Cassandra asked. 

"Very much." He agreed. "I really want to read it. After dinner?"

"Why not right now?" Cassandra asked curiously. "I would."

"Anticipation, Seeker." He took two steps to stand in front of her, and gently pulled her head down for a soft kiss. Her arms twined around his neck and she deepened it, and Varric pulled her closer to him. She sighed when he released her.

"I see what you mean." She said breathily. "Shall I meet you in the tavern? In say, twenty minutes?"

"I'd like that." Before he turned to leave, he raised one eyebrow rakishly, and gave her his most charming smile. "Going to rouge your lips again, Seeker? Because I'd like that, too."

She just laughed, and the warm, soft sound followed him down the stairs.

\---

Irgaine ran up the stairs two by two to her chambers, where both Josephine and Leliana were waiting for her. As she slammed the door shut behind her, she began to remove her garments as she crossed to the washstand. She scrubbed herself down quickly and rinsed and dried. As soon as she had the towel around her, Leliana tackled her still slightly sun washed red locks, dragging the pins out and brushing at it furiously. They moved together as they went over to the bed, where Josephine had prepared three different dresses. Irgaine pointed at the middle one, which had a wide necked white bodice with embroidered roses up the sleeves and an Inquisition symbol on the skirt. Red slippers. No jewelry. As Josephine did up the red satin laces, Leliana styled her hair into a complicated cascade down her neck, twisting and pinning it up. Two raps on the door, and Vivienne appeared, holding a small pouch of cosmetics, which she used lightly, enhancing Irgaine's eyes and lips, and dusting a bit of powder across her cheeks. Finished, the Inquisitor strode to the mirror and smiled. Perfect. "Time?" she asked.

Sera sat in the corner near the hearth, on the bearskin rug, with her eyes fixed on the clock on mantel. "Twelve minutes, Quizzy. Nice arse."

Irgaine grinned at her, and looked around the room. "Thanks everyone. Excellent work." She went to the door and let herself out, and was trailed by the rest of the women, who all wandered off as she went to sit in the great ridiculous uncomfortable beast of a throne. She looked every inch the Inquisitor, as she wanted to. She had considered the possibility that this was not an entirely friendly visit; Bann Luther Trevelyan was a calculating businessman, and maybe he was coming to drag her back to Ostwick and marry her off to some random rich nobleman. Or just set her back to work with the Eye and the smuggling and the gambling.

In the distance she could hear the gates of the keep opening, and knew it would not be very long before she found out if that was the case, or if they really just were coming to visit. She found, as she thought more about it, that even with all the death and filth and politics and demons and weird magic and trips to the fade, that there was no where else she would rather be. They really were doing good things for Thedas and had thwarted Corypheus at every possible turn. And she was the Maker damned Inquisitor! So no, no matter how hard her Lord Father argued, threatened, or cajoled, Irgaine was not going anywhere. She suspected that her friends and advisors would also... take exception. She chuckled at the idea of not being _allowed_ to go home to marry some unknown jackass.

She was a lovely picture of patience, face completely serene, her feet on the floor and her hands at her sides. She focused on one of the mural tiles at the opposite end of the hall, and did her best to still her mind and relax her breathing. Reflection won out after a moment, but she inhaled and exhaled through her nose, deeply and calmly. 

Skyhold was home now, not Ostwick, and there was important (and also not illegal) work still to be done. She would fight to save her people, not just meaning the people of Thedas, but especially meaning the ones she collected around her that had become an odd little family, complete with a severe and doting aunt and a giant clucking Qunari mother hen. 

And so she sat, and waited, and watched as a line of servants brought in platters of gilded fish and shoestring potatoes and cabbage salad. Tins of cut lemons and small bottles of flavored vinegars were added as they loaded the sideboard for the welcoming buffet. It was late enough that the torchbearers were fast at work, getting the chandeliers and sconces lit. She idly thought about having Dagna take a look at the Veilfire sconce in the rotunda. Maybe she could duplicate it somehow? And then the torchbearers could be utilized elsewhere.

Cabot led a few of his employees in and set up two barrels, one of Ferelden Pale, and one of L'eau du Printemps. He set up a small table and began to polish and stack glassware. It was not very long before places were set at the four great tables in the hall, and the workers lined up along the walls to wait for their guests.

It was not long before Josephine strode into the hall, leading a small retinue of armored and dusty people. A small figure darted up ahead of her and the ambassador grinned. "Gainey!" The little girl shouted, her blonde curls whipping in the air behind her as she ran up to the huge Andrastian throne. Irgaine stood and opened her arms, and the slip of a girl crashed into her, bowling her back into her seat. She laughed; now any semblance of dignity she had had was destroyed, but to have little Claira in her arms again meant more than her pride by a great measure. She kissed the child on her forehead and looked down in to her sweet brown eyes.

"Hello, my darling. I've missed you." She hugged Claira to her one more time, and then released her. She scampered back down to the bottom of the stairs.

"Opa says you're like a princess now. You sure look like it. Are you a princess now?" The little girl grinned up at her, as always the right side of her mouth quirked up a little higher than the left, giving it an adorable tilt of mischief.

Irgaine laughed. "No, I'm not a princess, I'm an Inquisitor."

The retinue finally approached the dais, and Josephine said formally, "May I present to you, the Lady Irgaine Trevelyan, Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, Slayer of Dragons and Siren of Ostwick. Your Worship, may I present Bann Luther Trevelyan, of Ostwick, and his fourth son, Lord Gareth Trevelyan. The lovely Miss Claira Burns, who had her ninth name day last month, and their men."

"Welcome to Skyhold, My Lord Father, Gareth. Welcome to my home. Food has been prepared. Let us lean back on our knives, and let our tongues go free." She waved out a hand at the food and drink before them and came down the steps.

The Bann opened his arms and met her halfway in a hug. He said, "My daughter. You live." He was tall, with greying reddish hair and the same dark green tilted eyes he'd given his daughter, the same close cheekbones and jaw. There was no denying she was his child, Josephine reflected as she watched them together. Even her half-brother Gareth had the same lines, but auburn hair and slightly deeper skin. Maybe the late Lady Trevelyan had been Antivan? Luther pulled back to look at his daughter and said, "You look lovely."

"Thank you, Father. You look well, and I am glad you have come to visit." She smiled and clasped his hand, then let go of him.

She turned to the younger man, then, and hugged him too. He picked her up and squeezed her, shaking her from side to side and planting a wet kiss on her cheek. She grimaced and rubbed her face, so Gareth laughed and set her down. "Hello, again, sister."

The men in the retinue, maybe twelve in total, began to line up with plates, helping themselves to gilded fish and beer. Irgaine had explained that this particular meal was a tradition on this day of the week in Ostwick, and was traditionally served like this, what the Herald called "family style," an extremely casual presentation. She wanted this to be as much of a family visit as it could be, and starting with a comfortable and familiar meal, Josephine agreed, was an excellent approach. The Ambassador herself had suggested the old Marcher saying about knives and tongues, it meant, relax and be yourselves, your words will not be held against you. 

Seeing that the men were finally fed, the Trevelyans and Claira got in line too. Irgaine sent a runner for some tea for the little girl, and chuckled as she made herself a huge plate of potatoes. "You have to take a piece of fish. I can't send you back to your Maman malnourished, you know." Claira made a face but complied, and covered it in the gherkin sauce from the dish near the trencher. The Inquisitor rolled her eyes and followed the girl back to the table with their plates and a small glass of pale for herself. They began to eat in companionable silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest Sunshine, I hope this satisfies your prompt! I didn't want to just give you any old thing, I tried to make it a pleasant and sweet surprise.
> 
> So, a lot of people headcanon that Antiva is kind of Spanish, Minrathous is kind of Roman, Val Royeaux obviously very French, and the Marches are sort of Anglo-German. I'm down with that. I grew up in a big German family, and in our part of the Midwest, Fish Fry is kind of a big deal. So I added it in there because the first thing I think of when going to visit them is that we should all go out for fish. Now I'm hungry, but there you are.
> 
> The Marcher saying about knives and tongues is actually an Ebou Dari saying from the Wheel of Time series, which has a bit of an influence on me. Other references may pop up here and there.
> 
> Thanks for reading my little self-indulgent fic. Comments and such, make me happy!


	12. A Different Kind of Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So. Much. Exposition. And a little Blackwall smut as a palate cleanser. I am a pain, as ever. :) Vivienne's gift inspired by a bit of party banter where the Enchanter compares social battles to physical ones when chatting with the Seeker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is mostly development of Irgaine. I know most of you are here for Tethraghast. Have patience with me, as I am following where the characters seem to be going. Or I am a schmuck, and I belong in the dumpster. Your call, really.

Cassandra leaned over the railing and peered down into the smithy. She had gone to sleep to rhythmic hammering, but it was silent now, and the forge fires were covered with simple iron doors. Light seeped out through holes, stamped in the sword-and-eye symbol of the Inquisition, and no one was down there working. She went to her wash stand and laid out the rug, then stripped off and dunked a cloth into the soothing room temperature water. As she washed, she looked at the small pile of dresses in the open box on the floor, a gift from Vivienne, with a small note attached that simply read:

_A different kind of armor. I took the liberty of having Sera find your size. --V._

As dismayed as she was at the notion of Sera rummaging through her things, especially with her writing laying about, the young Elven woman hadn't said a word to her about anything, so she had to assume that her secret was safe so far. Or that perhaps the girl had some sense of decorum. Unlikely, but there it was.

She rinsed and dried herself and rubbed some rose-scented balm into her wrists and behind her knees. She inhaled deeply, pleased it was not too strong. There were two dresses in the box, one a deep red with a plunging neckline, and the other a soft rose color, and cut similarly to her blue one, if maybe a little more modern. She pulled it on and eyed herself in the mirror.

_Not too bad._ She thought, as she dragged her fingers through her hair, deftly braiding it, and smirked a little as she contemplated wearing a stain on her lips. But she was going to dinner, and it would come off as she ate. And so she settled for a clean face and a quick smudge of kohl around her eyes. A small part of her was shocked at trying to make herself pretty for any reason; all the more because the reason was Varric. The man was a challenge, at once charming and infuriating, and she had to admit, if only to herself, that it was one she relished. Dealing with him was like peeling back the petals of a flower.

_Or the layers of an onion! Maker's ass, I must get it together!_

Cassandra rolled her eyes, squared her shoulders and went down the stairs to the door of the smithy, and let herself out into the courtyard. Varric could ask her whatever he wanted at dinner, and she would see what she would see.

\---

Varric absolutely did not swing by his quarters for a fresh tunic. He just happened to go up there to wash his hands before dinner, yes, exactly. He rolled his eyes at himself, thinking _You are not a lovesick teenager!_ even as he pulled the soft blue cotton over his head. He might as well change his breeches too, then, if he was already about it. He sighed at himself.

_Fine then. Honesty. Okay, the Seeker is fucking gorgeous, and when did I start thinking that? Did I ever not? Huh. She's a storm on the battlefield, tougher than me by far, and can kick my ass into line. Honest to a fault, and completely incapable of treachery. She's also a bossy, brusque, impossible pain in the ass. Shit. I really, really like her._

Varric rolled his eyes and squared his shoulders, and let himself out of his room. He plucked a bloom of Crystal Grace from one of the urns in the garden, then walked into the Great Hall. He paused and looked to his left. There was a buffet set up, and two tables were filled with men in burnished Blue Vitriol armor and soft beige doublets. Another table held the Inquisitor, who had a little blonde girl on her lap, a mabari at her feet, and what were clearly male relatives, one on either side of her. Irgaine waved and motioned him over, so he approached them.

"My lord Father, Gareth," she said as Varric strode up. The dog looked at him once and snuffed dismissively at him, keeping its head on its paws. She nudged it with her foot and it looked up at the dwarf again, absolutely disinterested. She shrugged and introduced Varric, "Master Varric Tethras, author and historian, meet my Father, Bann Luther Trevelyan, and my elder brother, Gareth."

"A pleasure." Varric said. He leaned forward to look at the little girl. "And who is your lovely young friend?"

Varric chuckled when she buried her head in Irgaine's shoulder. She made a few muffled noises, and hugged the Inquisitor closer. "This is Claira."

"Hello, Claira." 

The little girl raised her head to peer at him, and said, "Why don't you have a beard?"

He laughed, and said, "Why don't you?"

"I'm a girl, silly." As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "But aren't you a dwarf? Dwarves have beards."

"I am a dwarf," Varric replied, "But a beard makes me look funny."

"You're plenty funny looking without it." She quipped, grinning up at him.

He laughed again and clasped at his heart. He looked at the Inquisitor, and said, "She wounds me."

Irgaine eyed the flower Varric was holding. "You have a... Prior engagement?"

"I might." He replied sheepishly. She grinned and waved him away. Before he turned to leave, he said to the little girl, "Goodbye."

The child peered at him and waved, the same flick of her wrist as her Aunt's, and then he turned and went smiling to the doors of the keep.

They ate companionably, and Gareth and Luther began to tell the Inquisitor about recent events in Ostwick, matters of horses and farms, and the conversation turned to the aftermath of a small explosion at the docks in the east part of the city. Many of the small dinghys were fully repaired and back to work, but they occasionally brought back fish crusted in red Crystal. It didn't happen often, but it was enough to be worrisome.

"These red Crystal fish, do they seem to hum? Do people begin to act strangely?" She asked. _Maker's ass, if there's red lyrium growing there, that harridan has a lot to answer for._

"Our Carta friends have been disposing of them for us." Gareth replied.

Irgaine chose not to comment on this little revelation. Her mind whirred but she kept her face still and said, "I am happy to hear you have the matter so well in hand." She turned then, to regard her father. "How does Ingrid fare?" She asked softly. Claira began to doze in her lap, and she hugged the girl tighter, cradling her and stroking her hair, waiting for the answer she already knew.

"Much the same, I'm afraid." Luther replied.

The Inquisitor sighed and her brother took her other hand. "Hey, we keep her company, Claira reads to her every day. She's not in pain." Gareth squeezed tighter and smiled.

"I had hoped, maybe she would know I was gone?"

"It does not appear she will recover." Gareth said. "She breathes, eats, listens, as she did before you left. Her injuries do not pain her, but her mind has not stirred."

Luther looked around the hall at the tired group of travelers. They'd been in the saddle for a week, and the heavy meal and (now empty) kegs took their toll in addition to the journey. He heaved himself to his feet and looked down at his children. His daughter, thankfully alive, whose keep(!) he was visiting. His youngest boy, brilliant with figures and horses, sitting at her side, and little Claira dozing comfortably in Irgaine's lap. "We have much to discuss, on the morrow, my daughter. For now, however, would you be so kind as to have us shown to our rooms? I am honestly exhausted."

"I will show you myself, my Lord Father." She assented with a tilt of her head. "I'd planned to have Claira sleep in my room, but she's already almost out, and I'd hate to leave her up there alone. Can she stay with you tonight?"

Luther held out his arms and Claira clambered over, murmured, "Opa," into his shoulder, wrapped her legs around his waist, and her arms around his neck. He smiled and patted her back, then looked at his daughter and said, "Lead on."

She had Jim lead the small company to the barracks then strode to the door of the gardens and dragged it open, leading the Trevelyan men of up the stairs and along the stone balustrade. She opened the third door, overlooking the trellises of ghoul's beard and arbor blessing, into a generously sized room. A fire roared on the north wall, flanked by two windows. There was a large bed, a full bookshelf, and a small round table with a plush chair. On the table sat a cut glass bottle of Marcher Uager, and the little gold flecks in the liquor glinted in the light. She took a long splinter from the box on the mantle, stuck it in the fire, and used it to light the candle on the table, then moved around the bed to light other ones. "Is this acceptable, my lord Father?"

"Please, Gainey, Luther when we're alone." He laid Claira on the bed, and pulled the blue and gold embroidered coverlet up over the girl. She rolled over and began to snore softly. Gareth brushed an affectionate hand across the little girls forehead and looked over at the bottle.

Gareth said, "You've been having Uager sent here?"

Luther was already pouring three hefty shots into the tumblers next to the bottle. "You've thought of everything, haven't you, daughter?"

"Most was Josephine. I would never have thought of the linens in the House colors. But I've been having Uager shipped practically since we moved in." She smiled and held up her cup in a toast. The three Trevelyans clinked glassed and sipped.

"Hah, no wonder Bann Samara has been so smug lately, supplying the Inquisitor's personal vices. At home that's a badge of honor." Luther smirked, so similarly to Irgaine, and downed his drink. His children did the same, and set the glasses down on the table. The Bann's expression turned serious for a moment. "I am glad you live, daughter, but I am still unhappy that you sent no word. No word, Gainey. It's been six months, and I had to find out you lived from the Cadash! Your mother was a wreck! Not to mention the Eye, and all those contracts we couldn't fulfill. What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't, my lord, and you have a right to be angry. I have already written letters to Mother and Mira, apologizing for my thoughtlessness. It was most unworthy, and I can only hope you will forgive me." Her eyes met his, emerald to peridot. "I am sorry, Father."

Luther hugged his daughter to him, and released a great shaking breath. "It matters to me not, but that you live. Never do it again."

Irgaine hugged him closer, and japed, "Very well. The next time I get caught in an explosion and become Andraste's Herald, then decide to lead a heretic army against an ancient evil, I'll consult you first."

The Bann laughed and released her. "Excellent. See that you do."

They said their good nights, and as the door shut behind her and Gareth, Irgaine said, "I thought that would be harder, or something. I had assumed he would yell."

Gareth grinned as she opened the next door, revealing an identical chamber, and another bottle of Uager. "Oh, he yelled. For about three hours. We were all angry. Your mother passed out when we got the letter from Feral Cadash saying you lived and were leading the Inquisition. Apparently one of the lyrium smugglers saw you in Haven. She wasn't sure though, and we waited for a letter that didn't come." He continued balefully. "We thought the worst."

"I should have written. I know 'I've been busy' is a poor excuse."

"It is, but you have. I mean, look at this place. It's huge, and you have an army at your disposal. An _army_. You've done some truly amazing things already. I think that it's hard for Father to stay mad when you've represented the house so well. Especially being elevated as you were." He shrugged out of his breastplate and hung it on the stand next to the fireplace. "He made it sound a bit worse than it is, you know. Business is fine. Your mother is mercurial as ever, but she keeps a tight leash on your girls. And Mira brings a crowd of her own, when she sings."

"I am relieved to hear it. I should let you relax, Gareth." Irgaine said, heading for the door.

"Sure, for a bit. I'm tired and all, but I wouldn't say no to the inside of your tavern." Her brother scrubbed a hand through his dark red hair and grinned. "Bet the maids are pretty."

"I do know how to hire." Irgaine grinned at him. "An hour or so, then? I'd like to change as well."

"Sure." Gareth pulled her into another hug. He said, "I missed you, you know."

"I missed you, too."

\---

Blackwall ascended the stairs to the rookery, to drop off a small carved nug he'd made after Leliana had mentioned she kept them as pets. It started as a halla, but he'd trimmed it down, nipping the ears in just so, and it appeared to smile if you looked at it right. It was adorable, in all respects, and he hoped she would like it. He'd attached a note, because he did not expect her to be there. It was full dark by the time his feet hit the landing, and the whole tower was deserted, except for Solas' soft snore from the distant rotunda. He took the three steps to her desk, reaching out his hand to set the carving down, when he spied her kneeling at the small Andrastian altar fifteen feet away.

_"Blessed are they who stand before_  
_The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._  
_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._  
_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._  
_In their blood the Maker's will is written.  
_

His stomach twisted at the verse. It was the one he tried to live, but always felt he failed. He was corrupt, and wicked, and neither the Chantry nor the Maker should be inclined to forgive him. He tried to be a champion. He wondered if the Maker was toying with him as she stood, and turned. She was not wearing her doublet, just a soft grey blouse and trousers, and as she saw him, a genuine smile crossed her face and tugged at the fine lines around her eyes.

"Well, good evening, Ser Blackwall. I would not expect to find you here." She smiled at him, and the candlelight glowed behind her.

"I have brought you something." He said, holding out the small wooden nug.

She smiled a little and then took it from his hand, rolling it in her palms, before saying, "It's extremely cute!" 

"You like it?" He rumbled. He did not know how her gaze made him so suddenly shy. 

"I do! Look, if you hold it just to and squint, it's smiling!" And Leliana was too, as she regarded Blackwall. "Thank you. It looks just like Schmooples."

"You're welcome." He turned to go back down the stairs, but her hand on his elbow stopped him.

"You know," the Nightingale said as she eased herself into his arms, "Josie has had something with you that I have not."

"Is that so?" He twined around her body and pulled her to him. Their breath mingled, and she smelled of mulled wine and mint. "Is that... something you want?"

"Would you say no if I did?"

"No."

She touched her lips to his, softly, softly, tasting 'Vint whisky and tobacco, and sighing as he walked her back towards the gap in the wooden crates that led to her makeshift quarters. She backed away, breaking off their kiss, but pulling on the hooks of his doublet, at once pulling him into privacy and stripping him. The brown canvas fell to the floor, and her hands were at the ties of his shirt, unlacing it and pulling it over his head. Their kiss became more desperate, and he pulled her blouse out of her trousers, unlaced it, and flung it off against the wall. It made a soft smack and pooled to the floor.

Her arms wound around his neck as he backed her up to the small narrow bed. They lay next to each other, kissing and caressing, and both were soon bare and writhing skin to skin. The thickness of his cock lay hard between them and his hips rocked into hers, sliding amongst her tangle of curls. He groaned as her fingers slid down his belly between them to grasp his manhood, still rocking, and grunting with each thrust into her small hand.

"I want you inside me."

Her thighs were tense and white and firmly muscled, but they fell apart eagerly when he moved on top of her. The tip of his shaft teased her opening, and her back arched as he gently probed into her, then pulled out again, softly working her open, and smiling as her body relented to him. He sheathed himself fully and she gasped, eyebrows furrowing together then relaxing as he slowly, carefully went in and out of her.

She seemed to realize all of a sudden that her hands were resting on either side of her head, for she slid them slowly up and down his back, to his ass then up to his shoulders, as he took her, then tangled them in his hair. Leliana kissed him, open-mouthed, the thrusts of his tongue mimicking the tempo of his fucking, and whined when his teeth caught her lower lip.

He shuddered when she tightened around him, her arms and her thighs and her cunt, all at the same time, pulling him inexorably down, down, into a shuddering nadir, until stars shone behind his eyelids and he spilled hotly, thickly into her, panting and sweating and watching her eyes roll back and hearing her desperate, whispered prayer to the Maker.

Soft footsteps ascended the stairs, and he grunted and rolled off to his left, reached down, in one motion pulling the bearskin at the foot of her bed over them and settling her into the crook of his arm. His smile as he held her was stark white, his teeth in relief against the darkness of his beard. A feminine but husky voice asked, "Are you here, Leliana?"

She sighed softly and waved a hand dismissively. Blackwall fell silent. "I'm here." 

"Can I come in?"

"I would prefer if you did not." Her eyes shone apologetically at Blackwall. "But if you have something for me...?"

"I can come back later, if you are _in flagrante._ But I am not unaccustomed to conversation with the otherwise occupied." Irgaine was circumspect, and Blackwall could not suppress a chuckle.

The Warden smirked, and ducked under the hem of the bearskin, kissing a trail down Leliana's belly as she said, "Go ahead, Inquisitor." 

"Before I begin, you should know I would give a pretty to know who is in there with you. Josephine, perhaps? Or the Bull? He fancies redheads."

His tongue found her clit, and her head fell back. Leliana moaned, and said shakily, "If you have something to report?"

"I have." Irgaine paused and chuckled as Leliana squeaked at her lover. "My father says there are fish being found in the harbor and reefs of Ostwick, covered in red Crystal. He claims the Carta disposes of them for him. I am concerned."

There was sudden silence in the rookery, as the sheets stopped sliding behind the crates, Leliana looked down, under the skin, at Blackwall, and said as much to him as Irgaine, "I will have to look into this."

"I would appreciate it. And I am taking my leave. I am meeting my brother Gareth for drinks in the tavern, in a half hour." She chuckled. "Whoever you are. Well done. Count to a hundred and you'll have your privacy." 

Soft feet went back down the stairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am deeply grateful for the mentions of my little fic on the BioWare Cass-Varric forum. There had been some discussion on why exactly we authors write, for free. For myself, i do it for fun, and because I am writing something about characters I like, that I would enjoy reading. That's pretty much it. I write the fic I would want to enjoy, if you like it too, that's excellent.
> 
> Until next time, gentle reader, Ancestors guide you, kudos/comments are the shit, and be well.


	13. Parlez Nous A Boire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think this might actually be fluff? I had a tough week and basically this chapter is my attempt to cheer myself up. It kind of worked, I think.
> 
> Anyhow, Parlez-nous a Boire is a song by the Balfy Brothers, and I lifted the lyrics from www.cajunlyrics.com

Irgaine was still chuckling at catching Leliana in bed with someone as she went up to her rooms to change. Blue vest, white blouse, grey trousers, hair into a looping braid across her forehead. She looked at the lute in the corner next to the fireplace. It was entirely too big to drag down to the Herald's Rest. Instead, she grabbed the case with the fiddle she'd purchased in Val Royeaux, and opened it. She plucked the strings a few times, then pulled it out to tune it. When she was finished, she locked up the case and walked through the moonlight out to the tavern.

It was, as she would have said in her Siren days, balls-out busy inside, and she skirted the dance floor. There were good things about being the Inquisitor, Irgaine reflected as the crowd parted before her. She set her fiddle case between her feet when she stood at the bar and dropped a silver on it. Cabot appeared almost instantly with a sip of Uager and a mug of pale. She accepted them gratefully, took the sip immediately, then grabbed her mug and strode to the middle table against the wall, which held Gareth, and four of the men from the retinue.

Their cheers of greeting were muffled by the crowd noise, but she sat down next to Anton with her mug, and he clapped a hand on her shoulder. Gareth waved his beer over the instrument case she set on the table. "Going to play?" He shouted over the din.

"Maybe? I'll see if Maryden wants me to." Irgaine sat and flicked her hair back over her shoulders. She took a sip of her beer and looked over at the area in front of the fire. 

The bard-in-residence eventually noticed the violin case, then met her eyes. Maryden nodded once, and Irgaine took her beer with her as she went to the middle of the room. She put it on a small, half-round shelf mounted into the mortar between the large flat stones of the hearth. The room calmed but still seemed to roil as she unlocked the buckles, and as she pulled it free, Maryden let out an appreciative whistle. "Only in Orlais, do they paint flames on a fiddle."

"It was the one that fit my arm." Irgaine said.

"Bullshit." Maryden grinned at her.

The Inquisitor pretended to glare at the bard, held the instrument to her shoulder, and began to play. The table of people from Ostwick began to clap, and a few others around the tavern joined in as well. This song was a well-known Orlesian peasant's drinking song that Irgaine had played frequently at The Bluest Eye, so it was no surprise to her when Gareth and Anton began to sing.

_Oh parlez-nous à boire, non pas du marriage, Toujours en regrettant, nos jolies temps passé_

_Si que tu te maries avec une jolie fille, T'es dans les grands dangers, ça va te la voler._

A few groups of people trickled in. Amongst them was Rylen, Commander Rutherford's second, flanked by Ser Barris, recently arrived from Lothering, and two more Templars. There was a moment after that which was maybe a little tense when Fiona appeared with no less than four mages. No one held a sword or a staff, and since the Inquisitor herself was playing her fiddle, their attention was drawn by the music and not their perceived adversaries. In fact, Ser Barris held out his hand toward a young, brown eyed Mage from Redcliffe. The boy blushed furiously but took his hand. More couples began to assemble around the floor.

_Si que tu te maries aves une vilaine fille, T'es dans les grands dangers, faudra tu fais ta vie avec._

A few others around the room knew the song, among them Maryden, who was following along with her lute. It was a rare treat for the Inquisitor herself to join in on the entertainment, and when she started dancing around the tavern with her fiddle, she noticed a few people slip out. She smiled at Cabot as she passed the bar, and he winked back at her as he set a few mugs of Dwarven Black in front of the visiting dignitaries from Orzammar. They chucked a few silvers his way, and spun on their stools to watch Irgaine as she passed by. She sawed away on the fiddle, as more revelers began to clap around the bar. Gareth and Anton were joined by the lovely soprano of the scout Ritts, who was in to report from the Hinterlands and well into her cups.

_Si que tu te maries avec une fille bien pauvre, T'es dans les grands dangers, faudra travailler tout la vie._

Cassandra chuckled as she sat across from Varric at the Chargers' table. He leaned back against the wall, clutching his cards close to his chest. Could she, the Seeker wondered, possibly distract him into making mistakes? She eyed her hand, and the lead card in the middle of the table. Serpents. Her victory entirely depended on the next thing Varric discarded, as everyone else had folded. The Iron Bull and Krem could have played on; she knew their cards were Vices as some of the things she could have used were face up in front of them. Careful draws and discards had her sitting pretty on a flush. 

_Si que tu te maries avec une fille qu'a de quoi, T'es dans les grands dangers, tu vas attraper des grandes reproches. Fameux, toi grand vaurien, qu'a tout gaspillé mon bien. Fameux, toi grand vaurien, qu'a tout gaspillé mon bien._

Irgaine played skillfully on her extravagant painted fiddle while the tavern goers clapped or danced along. There were a few who knew the words and provided both melody and harmony, men and women alike singing both parts. The sum became greater than the whole and it was extraordinary to listen to. Irgaine reveled in the music, and smiled as she spun past Ser Barris and his partner. When the verses ended and the Herald changed keys, Maryden kept time, and Gareth stomped along with the handclaps as his sister began to play Meet Your Eyes, a decade old dancing song from Ostwick.

\---

At the Bull's table, Cassandra was still waiting for Varric to discard. "Come on then." She said, peering at him through her eyelashes even as she carefully removed the slipper from her right foot. She (hoped it was) casually tucked the bloom of Crystal Grace back into her braid, even as her toes slid over the vamp of his boot and he twitched and glared at her. His eyebrows said he had nothing. She was sure. But instead of dropping the Angel of Death on him, she threw another copper into the pile. He either had to bet, discard, and show, or fold and lose the pot. She had him. Her foot slid up his leg to his knee, and Varric was glaring, with a little heat. She stubbornly kept her face still and her gaze low.

The card in the middle of the table was the Nine of Serpents. Varric had a flush of Songs, and a stray Eight of Serpents, and he strongly suspected the Seeker was holding more of the suit. And her toes were sliding up his inner thigh. She kneaded a little swath back and forth. Desire stirred in his belly and it was obvious she knew it, as her foot went back down to his knee. A small smile played at her corner of her lips, and Varric risked a glance at Bull, who was grinning widely (did he do it any other way, really?) at him, and waiting with one eyebrow raised.

"Fuck it," Varric said after a moment. He was likely done for anyhow, and in a number of ways. He threw his own copper on the pile and discarded, "Let's see what you've got."

Cassandra smiled triumphantly as she lay down the Seven, Ten, Battalion, Knave, and Queen of Serpents, along with the Angel of Death. Varric groaned and threw two more coppers at her, one for his lucky-for-her discard and one for the Angel. Krem, Stitches, and Dorian cheered, and Bull guffawed and clapped her on the back, hard. "You've finally done it, Seeker!"

"It seems I have." She agreed. "It must be past time for me to depart."

"Seeker," Varric said, "You could at least give me a chance to win back my coin. It's very unsportsmanlike, you know." He grinned up at her, the rakish one that made her stomach do a little flip.

Dorian met The Iron Bull's eyes, and they shared a small smirk at Cassandra's blushing cheeks. She put a hand on Varric's shoulder and said, "Remember I said Cullen could have the morning off tomorrow."

"You did?"

"I thought I told you. It appears I did not. The Commander will be touring Skyhold with Irgaine and her family."

"Because that won't be awkward as hell." Varric chuckled at Cullen's impending discomfort. "Oh, to be a fly on the wall. So you're training tomorrow then?"

"I am. And I would very much like to not be hungover. Or tired." She squeezed his shoulder once, then let her hand drop. "Goodnight, Varric."

He shrugged and smiled at her. "G'night, Seeker."

Dorian rolled his eyes at the lack of shame both Varric and Bull displayed as they watched her hips sway towards the door.

\---

When little Elise came back to the table with more beer, Varric flipped her a silver. She took it with a curtsey, pausing long enough for him to get an eyeful down her dress if he wanted. He stared at a point off to the right of her head, and she took the hint and the coin and walked back to the well for more drinks to deliver elsewhere.

Dorian watched the whole exchange with some interest, mostly because his cup was empty, then realized that the young lady who brought their drinks was the one Varric had shown interest in some weeks ago. What an interesting development! Perhaps the flirting with the Seeker had progressed beyond mere words? Their goodnights were casual, without a hint of acid. And had he perhaps detected something that wasn't mere friendship in their eyes tonight? Wait.

She'd only said goodnight to Varric. With a devilish smirk he accepted a pint, and took another sip of the vile, excellent Fereldan Pale and turned to his Dwarven friend, who was watching the Inquisitor flow seamlessly from one song to the next and tap her feet in time with her fiddle. "Varric," Dorian said, drawing out his name, as he was passing out the beers. "Enjoying the view?"

"Who isn't?" Bull interjected. " _Meraad,_ look at the way the leather clings to her legs! Even you, Dorian, have to admit, Irgaine cuts a fetching figure, what with that long red hair and pretty ass. If you have eyes and a pulse, you see it."

The mage snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "As pretty as a picture," he grudgingly agreed.

The Herald of Andraste dallied on her fiddle and wove through the crowd on the dance floor over to their table, and stepped up on to the bench next to Varric, then up once more to perch atop their table and continue to play. Her brother appeared behind her, to lift her up and whirl her down to the dance floor. Many pairs of eyes followed the siblings as they spun around each other. They had clearly done this before, they way they seamlessly wove into the reel, and her fingers on the fiddle and his dancing feet never wavered.

It was a tired old trope, and Varric winced even as he thought it, but this time it was actually true that the resemblance of the siblings was striking. He was larger, and broader and darker than she was, but still with reddish hair and the same spurious smile. The nose that was pert on Irgaine had been broken at least twice by Gareth, and a scar gashed through one of his eyebrows. But their movements were almost identical, graceful and easy. They had the same laugh, too, he noted as she finished playing and they collapsed against each other in a fit of giggles. The crowd clapped and rumbled, and the Inquisitor held up her hands.

Her Mark beat steadily behind the neck of her fiddle and she pointed her bow in the air as if it were her official sword. "Inquisition! Would you like to hear one more song?"

The room erupted in cheers. Because of course it did.

When they quieted, she laid it back to her shoulder and said, "Has everyone met Gareth? Everyone, this is Gareth, my brother, and his men are over there." She gestured with her bow. "Shall we show them that no one parties like the Inquisition?"

More noise. Never let it be said the Siren of Ostwick was above a cheap pop. Requests were shouted from the audience, and Maryden thrummed a bass line on her lute, as Irgaine began to play a cheerful tune, wordless and happy as she sat next to the woman on the bench. Dancing broke up, and people scattered to tables or to the bar, and the maids were busily moving about with trays full. 

No less than three trays of sips arrived at Gareth's table, immediately followed by Harding, Sera, and Dorian, who plopped themselves down on the empty bench across from Anton and the other two men. Introductions were made, this one was Tomas and this one August, also red of hair, Irgaine's first cousins.

"She never said she came from such a big family." Dorian remarked. 

"It's no secret," Tomas said, "There's most likely a thousand Trevelyans."

"You exaggerate. Our grandparents were... Prolific. My lord Father is the eldest of eight children. There are what? 37 cousins altogether?" Gareth added. "If we're not now, we'll be at a hundred soon. And I'm sure you're aware, Irgaine is my half sister. A few of my uncles have recognized more, so she doesn't stick out too much."

"Oh, I've heard tales." Dorian smirked. "But not from the source?"

"And risk the Inquisitor's wrath? Are you mad?" The table laughed. Apparently everyone had seen or 'enjoyed' that particular experience.

Irgaine's song came to an end, and she bowed to a chorus of boos at her departure. "I need a drink." She announced as she put her fiddle away.

\---

Varric found the opportunity to grab someone's neglected bottle of wine and slip out of the tavern. He quickly crossed the courtyard to the door of the smithy. As he went up the stairs he noted that she'd lit a few candles. The glow spread softly down over the stairwell and his feet fell heavily on the wooden planks as he climbed. When he rounded the landing, he spied Cassandra, changed into a soft tan blouse and loose cotton pants that clung around her. It left him little to imagine, and he really didn't mind. She was bent over the pages on her desk, sorting them into some semblance of order. He cleared his throat.

"Oh there you are," she said as she turned. "I had thought I was too circumspect."

"I wasn't sure. Are you training tomorrow or not?"

"I am. But I only had one drink. And I don't need much sleep." Cassandra replied, adjusting her braid nervously.

Varric took the three steps to her desk, as she shuffled the parchment into a stack. She turned to face him in her seat. "I read fast. That is, if it's still okay?"

"I am worried you will not like it."

"Pretty sure that's normal, Seeker." He held up the stolen bottle of wine. "Got cups?"

The Seeker quirked an eyebrow at him. "No. We will have to drink out of the bottle."

She stood and offered him the chair. Varric sat and smiled at her. "I promise, I already like it."

Cassandra snorted. "As you say."

Varric pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth. It turned out to be another Antivan red, sweet up front and dry in the finish. It was actually pretty good, and Varric grunted appreciatively before he passed the bottle to her. She took a swig and set it on the desk before walking over to the flat-lidded trunk to sit down. She had a book sitting there, which she picked up to read.

"Is that Hard in Hightown?"

"It seemed fair."

Varric laughed, genuinely amused at the Seeker' dry sense of humor. He turned to the blotter on the desk and began to read the first page.

_Merrick strides into the room and slams his bow on the table. Philippa jumps and whirls away from the window. Merrick is still walking towards her. Without a word, he stomps up to her and looks up into her eyes. She knows he is angry; he does not take kindly to losing, and is... suspicious about how she won the contract for the life of the Arl. Her eyes flash as he crosses the room, and she juts out her strong chin as she says his name. She is tall, for a human female, but likewise he is tall for a dwarf, so when their eyes meet she still has an advantage, especially as he nears her. He grunts as he stops in front of her._

Cassandra shifted in her seat, and her hips rolled modestly as she uncrossed her legs. Varric was Not. Distracted. Not at all. He was not distracted by her long, long legs as she planted her feet on the floor, elbows on her thighs as she turned a page of his book. He looked down at her manuscript and continued to read.

Well, Fade, it was damned steamy. As he read he could not manage to put it out of his mind that this was the Seeker's handwriting, the Seeker's tale. He tried to let himself be swept up in the scene in Philippa's chamber, but then Cassandra cleared her throat and he looked over at her. All of the candles that were lit in the room were set on the desk where he read, so her face was cast in grey shadow and silver moonlight, and his eyes were drawn to her mouth.

Varric resolved to finish chapter twelve, and he did, pleased that it offered a cliffhanger. He flipped the parchment over to the one headed _Thirteen_ , then strode over to the chest the Seeker sat on. The book was splayed in her lap, her thumb holding the spine apart, and the pink tip of her tongue touched her upper lip. His hand took the one holding the spine, and she looked up at him, startled. Her mouth dropped open into a little "oh!" Before he pulled the book out of her hand to drop it on the floor and fold himself into her arms and legs in one smooth motion. He was standing, and she was sitting on the trunk, and they were for once at eye level, her ankles apart behind his feet.

Her arms wound around him and he reached a hand up to grip in the back of her hair. He smirked on one side when he finally kissed her, and her mouth opened under his softly as he tangled his tongue with hers. Cassandra inhaled sharply as he moved himself closer to her, and pressed his chest against her torso. The side of his thumb brushed a breast has he went to grab her elbow and she hissed and leaned into him even as his hand moved back around her neck. There was passion,yes, and lust, and Maker, her hands trailed down to cup his ass, and pull him closer. 

Varric tried to keep his hands from wandering, but her hips rolled into his and he did not bother to stifle his groan. It felt like every drop of blood in his body suddenly rushed to his groin as the Seeker released his lips to trail kisses along his jaw. She pulled his hand from her neck and set it on her breast. He pulled back to look at her, saying quietly, "Do that and I won't get any more reading done."

"Perhaps now I do not want you to read," she replied before brushing her lips to his again. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A painted Orlesian fiddle. Because I could. :) Have a great week, and thanks for reading!
> 
> Song translation on the playlist.


	14. Priceless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is hazing, and decision making. And I hope you enjoy my smartassery, dear reader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter is a bit short maybe. But oh look mom, I made plot! Yay me!

\---

The tour was finally on the battlements, and getting closer to Irgaine's chambers, and lunch, when Claira happened to look into the sky to see a hawk flying over head. She giggled and followed Sentinel to chase after it, and Irgaine and Luther sped up to catch them. Cullen began to follow, but Gareth's hand on his arm made him stop walking.

"Commander, a word?" The other man smiled at him, briefly, and it was odd to see someone else wearing the Herald's grin. It was quiet on the walkway, and Trevelyan seemed to be considering how to phrase... "I was wondering, does Irgaine have anyone? Is she seeing somebody?"

Cullen felt a blush creep up his neck, but answered carefully, "Shouldn't you be asking her?"

"Oh, probably." Gareth snorted and tucked his long, straight hair behind his ears. "Like she'd tell me. Probably afraid I'd haze the poor creature."

The Commander just stared at Gareth dully. 

"Haze. You know."

Cullen plainly did not.

Trevelyan chuckled, and elaborated. "One time I caught a badger and put it in Loghain's saddlebags. Another time, I put drakevein in Ingrid's shampoo. Her hair was black for a week. Irgaine was so mad, she chased me around the stables with a shovel."

"I can picture that, actually." Cullen smiled a little, and tried to digest this new information as they walked behind the rest of the group. He knew about Irgaine and Loghain, a little, but the way her brother mentioned him and Ingrid in the same sentence gave Cullen pause. What was she leaving out? Before Gareth could interpret his silence Cullen continued, he hoped smoothly, "Drakevein in the shampoo you say? That might be useful information."

They were silent for a few steps. Cullen asked, "So, the hazing, you include Irgaine's friends?"

"If they deserve it. Why, are you looking for ideas?"

"Absolutely. Sera somehow got a beehive into one of my training dummies."

Gareth guffawed. "Creative! I'll have to exchange notes with her."

"I beg you not to." Cullen smiled, and Gareth grinned back. "Frankly, I could use your, ah, expertise in this matter."

"Is that right? I am at your disposal."

Irgaine turned to look back at them, and smiled a coy little smile at Cullen, then her brother, meeting their eyes in turn. Something about the way she flicked her gaze quickly back to her father and strode further away with him made Gareth's head slowly swivel over to look at the Commander. Cullen knew he was in trouble. Lots of it too, judging by the wolfish grin on Trevelyan's face. The same expression as on Irgaine's, when he left an opening in chess. Maker, she'd set him up. He should have known.

"Commander, are you schtupping my sister?"

The blush that lit up the commanders face was a sight to behold. He put a hand to his temple and sighed. "Schtupping?"

"You know, screwing, banging, porking, fucking, boinking, making the beast with two backs? _Blitzkrieg mit dem fleischgewehr,_ , as they say in the north." As he spoke, he counted euphemisms with his fingers, and as he did Cullen kept turning redder and redder.

_Maker take me whole,_ Cullen thought as he turned to lean against the stone railing. Fifty different answers tumbled through his head.. What fell out of his mouth was, "Not so far."

To his surprise, Gareth clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder and said, "Oh, relax, Commander. You seem a good sort, and my sister must be quite smitten with you, else she would not have let me know. It's a good thing, after what happened to Ingrid."

"Ingrid? She's never mentioned." Cullen's mind reeled. A woman?

"You haven't had the ex talk, have you?"Gareth asked.

"It hasn't come up in conversation, no."

"Might want to do that."

"We should catch up to them."

"I haven't finished." Said Trevelyan. "I offer you the standard vague disclaimer of bodily harm, followed by the standard request of care for her happiness and well-being."

As much as he was loath to, Cullen asked, "Is this a speech you give to all her many suitors?"

Gareth snorted, and his thick, straight auburn hair fell to his collar again, obscuring his face. "Bah. As if she would entertain them. She was never one for romance, not very much." The man looked up through his hair at Cullen. "I have many, many female cousins. I'm generally the one who, uh, inspects, the contenders for their hands."

"Is that what you're doing here? Inspecting me?"

"Do you imagine that it is not what Irgaine intended? If she didn't want me to know, I wouldn't. Take it as a compliment, even if it is a little backhanded." He paused. "She wants me to like you."

Cullen huffed out a breath. 

"The jury is still out, but you're doing alright so far."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. At the first opportunity, he fled to his office.

\---

Awkwardness aside, Cullen and Gareth became fast friends. The man was adept at a chessboard, quick with his weapons and words, and he and his squad added some fresh blood on the training fields. While Luther spent his days chatting with Blackwall and Dennet about horseflesh, Gareth wound up in the sparring ring as often as not. For a solid week, he kicked the ass of every man or woman that chose to face him even if they bested him, until finally, word of this bout reached the Grand Hall. Irgaine was speaking to Varric about the Carta when Jim strode in through the grand door, and paused a respectable distance from the dwarf's wide, low desk.

"...so there are still a few with the taint. And you say, the Cadash are staging a hostile takeover?" Irgaine asked quietly. "Does Karshol live?"

"He disappeared some months ago, around the time of the Conclave." Varric looked over at Jim, then back at Irgaine. 

"Jim, it's your day off." She said.

"It is, your Worship, but the Commander sent me up to fetch you." He paused. "Lord Trevelyan is sparring with Lady Cassandra."

Without a word, Irgaine and Varric exchanged a chagrined look, and tromped after him out to the yards.

\---

Gareth smiled brightly at the Seeker. It was not often he got to spar with such a lovely creature. She was what, maybe five years older than he was? The way the scar cut across her cheek she was no stranger to a rough life, and he adored the way she snorted when she was aggravated with the troops. So maybe he was flirting, a little, when he asked if she wanted to spar. He did not expect her to accept. He should have. 

And so it was with delighted dismay he strapped a buckler to his arm and hefted a dulled infantry blade from the rack. It was a lovely afternoon in the Frostbacks, and as he stood across the ring from the woman, he felt light as a feather. They circled each other for a few passes, until he closed on her and took a swing. She stepped out of the way easily and smirked as he rolled through it back to standing. After a bit of trading light blows, they began in earnest, Cassandra easily besting him in the first round. She'd bashed him to the ground with her shield, and stepped lightly on his throat.

Varric and Irgaine arrived well into their second bout. Gareth had switched to his more comfortable dual-bladed style, but Cassandra seemed to have his every move pegged, and was able to anticipate everything he did. Jim led them over to Cullen, who watched with interest as she bloodied Gareth's lip. He turned to them as they arrived and smiled that Andraste preserve her grin at Irgaine. "It seems," he said, "that Gareth has bitten off more than he can chew."

Indeed her brother had, for the Seeker closed on him efficiently, clanging her sword heavily against his blades and swinging her shield round to clip him in the shoulder. He rolled with the blow and tried to come up with a rising blade beneath her, but she saw it coming and leaned out of the way, pressing the palms of her hands into the ground and bending over backwards to flip herself back up, to her feet, his dulled blades slipping between her legs.

As they watched the blades flash against each other, Irgaine moved a bit closer to Varric and put her Marked hand on his shoulder. "And no one knows where Karshol has gone?"

"My guys say he hasn't been seen."

"Something odd is happening in Ostwick. My father told me last week that fishermen have been catching fish covered in Red Lyrium." Irgaine said, as she watched Gareth barely get out of the way of another shield bash. "Leliana said she would look into it."

"That's not comforting on any level, you know." Varric replied. Her hand on his shoulder was warm, and he might have taken a tiny step closer to her soothing presence. "How long ago did you find this out?"

"My lord Father mentioned it the night he arrived. I pretty much ran up to the rookery."

Gareth was on the ground again, covered in sweat and dirt, and the Seeker stood over him with her blade at his neck. "Yield." She said.

"Without doubt." Gareth chuckled and stood up as the bells began to ring Third. 

Cullen looked at Irgaine and tilted his head. "Inquisitor? We should go." 

She looked down at Varric ruefully, and he said quietly, "This Inquisitor business is all bullshit, huh?"

Irgaine flushed a little but grinned and nodded. "Indeed. I'll see you later. I'll let you know if Leliana has anything today."

"Please do." Varric turned towards the ring. Cassandra was on the opposite side of it, getting water from the well, and he went to join her with a little wave for Irgaine. Whatever he said to the Seeker had her laughing.

"Has Varric always been so smooth with the ladies, I wonder? What did he say to you to make you blush?" Cullen asked.

"Better to ask yourself, what is he saying to Cassandra to make her laugh? Suave indeed."

Irgaine did not enjoy deflecting questions about Varric, but she was unsure that she wanted to deal with the reaction of the inner circle should they discover what transpired between the two of them at Adamant. Especially Cullen. He didn't comment, instead extending his elbow for her to take. Before she reached for it, she said. "People will talk. Is that what you want?"

"I'd like it less if there were nothing for them to discuss." He replied.

Irgaine's face lit up and she beamed at him. She took his arm, and they walked side by side, through the keep, and up to the war room, chuckling between themselves at the shocked faces of the people they passed. When they went under Vivienne's balcony, she raised a haughty eyebrow at the pair of them. Irgaine waved cheerfully, and the enchanter rolled her eyes and turned away to pour tea for Commander Helaine. Irgaine spotted the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she did, and grinned over at Cullen. "She only pretends to disapprove. I think secretly, she's happy for us."

"Speaking of other people's opinions, I have been meaning to talk to you about the battlements. Do you have any idea what your brother asked me?"

"Of course I do, he's my brother." She replied, chuckling. "You should have seen your face. Priceless."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck as she pulled open the door to the War Room. "I'm sure." He said drily.

\---

"The bridges over the sulphur puts in the Western Approach have been completed, and there is a missive from Griffon Wing keep about varghests impeding their access to water. Also, morale is low there. I recommend we send a cook. A good meal after a long day of work is often just what is needed." Cullen looked at the women around the table. "Unless you ladies have other suggestions?"

"Perhaps we could send them a small library? Some light reading to while away the idle hours?" Josephine suggested.

Leliana nodded. "A good idea. Or perhaps, fresh supplies and a shoemaker? Tired, sore feet make patrolling ... Unpleasant."

"I would say, all three, but we cannot be seen showing favor to one keep or the other." Irgaine reflected a moment. "Perhaps, the cook to the Approach, the library to Crestwood--" Leliana nodded, Charter would love that. "--and supplies and cordwainers to both?"

"Excellent." Josephine said, and moved a few markers on the board. 

"Leliana, since we are here, do you have news out of Ostwick?" Irgaine asked.

"It is unsettling."

"Go on."

"My agents have observed that few of the nets reel in red lyrium fish, perhaps, one in twenty-five. Many vessels have Dwarven lyrium boxes on board, is that common?" Leliana asked Irgaine in turn.

"I shouldn't think so. Carta ships do, but they're generally hidden, of course. Under a bench or whatever." The Inquisitor replied.

"They report that all the red fish are saved, and purchased by a dwarf called Dairmut, who is always flanked by no less than three armored guards. He pays ten silver per fish, so more and more fisherman troll the areas where they are common."

"Ten silver is a months' pay, usually." Irgaine added with a scowl. "Dairmut. Small, even for a dwarf, big fat belly, stringy hair? Drinks lots of brandy?"

"That is the description I was given."

The Inquisitor made a disgusted face. The dwarf was horrible, and she was not surprised that he was dealing in the vile red Crystal. "And where does Dairmut take the fish?"

"Into the caves beneath Ostwick. My agents were stopped in their search for him by a locked door that looked to be of Dwarven make."

Irgaine blew air out between her teeth. "I am torn. The Approach, and the Venatori, or Ostwick and the Carta."

"Could you ask your father to look into this matter?" Josephine suggested.

"My lord Father has enough to do. Let's speak to Gareth, see what he says. The squad he brought with him is his own, and they are very skilled. Depending on what he says, I may go to Ostwick myself, if I must. Again, we should not be seen to play favorites. I'd prefer to be seen assisting, instead of charging in and taking over." Irgaine paused, and a small smile played over her lips. "There's your answer; send the Chargers. We could say, for support?"

"An excellent idea," Leliana agreed. "Perhaps we should send the Bull along?"

"Yes. And maybe Cassandra? She may prove resistant, if there is Red Lyrium." Cullen added. "I know Blackwall wants to escort Erimond and Dedrick to the Wardens, and Stroud will be glad of the other men he's recruited. Those will watch the prisoners, and all Blackwall will have to do is knock on the door and drop them off."

"Alright, Blackwall to the Approach with the men and women for the Grey Wardens." Irgaine nodded. "Solas has been pestering me about the Veil in the areas surrounding Adamant. He will join the party there as well."

"Can we send Vivienne along with Bull to Ostwick? She will be useful, to see beyond any machinations from the Carta or the Marcher nobles. They barely scratch the surface of the Game, and she is especially adept and ruthless at it," posited the Spymaster.

"That will only add to her haughtiness," Josephine began.

"Ah yes," agreed Leliana. "But it will not be directed at us."

Cullen snorted, and Irgaine chuckled as the two women shared an amused glance. "Very well," the Inquisitor agreed. "Who's left?"

"Dorian, Varric, Sera, and Cole." The Commander listed them off, ticking his fingers. "Send Cole with the party for the Marches, for maximum effect against nobles and Vivienne."

Josephine clapped her hands and laughed delightedly. "You are efficiently ruthless, Commander, and it is a quality I adore."

Irgaine smiled at them both, amused at the exchange. "I guess my question is, am I headed to the Approach? Or home?"

"There are no reports of rifts near Ostwick, Inquisitor." Leliana said softly.

"It is an excellent point." Irgaine agreed. "Very well. My party is one person short. Sera has mentioned there is a Red Jenny matter in Orlais she wishes to see to. That leaves Varric and Dorian."

Cullen suggested, "Why not send one of them with Sera?"

"I might but for two reasons: one, either Varric or Dorian would most likely goad her into more trouble than she could find on her own, and two, she said she needed to go alone. Something about needing a break, and some cookies? I'm not sure." Irgaine tapped a finger on her chin. "Of course, it might be a good idea to send someone with her. I think she wouldn't object to Harding and her squad."

"Harding and Dorian." Leliana suggested. "If things go sour it would be well to have a Mage along."

"And Varric with us to the west." Irgaine nodded. "Very well. Send a runner with orders for everyone. We depart at dawn, in five days' time. We will all proceed down the mountain together, and part ways the second morning."

"Does anyone have anything further?" Cullen asked. He began to move markers around the map, indications of their decisions. The room was silent as the women shook their heads. "Then we are adjourned for the day. Josie, join me for dinner?" Leliana walked to the door of the War Room and turned to open the door for the Ambassador. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey thanks for all your patience and kind words. I probably should have spent today writing, but I got caught up on TV. Anybody else notice that Dr. Bashir from DS9 is on Game of Thrones? I fangirled.
> 
> Also, Scandal? Whoaaaaaaaah.
> 
> Okay, back to work :)


	15. Cat's Out of the Bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey down the mountain before the party parts ways. We learn stuff. And things. NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, two chapters in as many days. Perhaps my TV binge helped, huh?

A long file of armed and armored people rode down the side of the mountain. The sun shone at its highest peak, and there was bickering and laughter ringing amongst the clatter of mail and horses. Irgaine found herself riding behind Dorian, and in front of Vivienne, who were discussing the latest styles from Orlais, both in furnishings and fashions. It was utterly dull, and she let herself become lulled by the ride, the steady swaying of her horse, and the back-and-forth sunlight flickering against Dorian's shoulder buckles putting her into a kind of shimmery sleep.

Solas turned around to face her, and said, "Hello, Inquisitor."

He was about ten feet away, hovering a few feet off the ground. Her breath left her in a rush, and she jolted awake. In good time, as Vivienne was speaking to her. "...had said that I could have him brought to Skyhold. I think the Antivan would like a new dress too."

"I trust your judgement in this matter." Irgaine replied. "Just tell him I prefer laces to boning, and I ruin silk. Otherwise, I leave it to him. And I wouldn't say no to a few new frocks. It has been a long time."

"Clearly. Those hideous vests you wear went out of style with messy hair and too much kohl. If you will permit it, he will... redress you." Her tone was light, almost jovial. "Something befitting the Inquisitor."

Dorian snorted a laugh in front of her. "I might not have put it so bluntly. Or so well."

"Wow," was all Irgaine could say as a blush crept up her cheeks. She laughed nervously and turned in her saddle. "Just wow."

Vivienne was tilting a small smile at her, clearly cutting and ribbing at the same time. "You haven't had the time, darling, I know. And so we will make the time. I dare say you've earned it."

Irgaine laughed, and said, "You have an odd way of giving gifts, my Lady. And thank you."

"You are welcome, my dear." She said.

Irgaine turned around in her saddle to face forward, and was soon calmed again by the rhythmic canter of her horse. As altitude decreased the path became shaded, the sunlight hazy and warm. A few minutes passed and she dozed again.

The wooded path _shifted_ around her. The landscape changed, and the trees were the green and yellow of early fall. Solas was in front of her, still hovering, and there were wisps floating past in the shape of pilgrims, on their walk to the Shrine of Andraste further up the trail. She said his name, and he turned again to face her. "Are we in the Fade?" He tilted his head and replied, "Yes. A version of it anyway. We are Skimming."

"And that means?" 

"I often observe the fade around me in this way as we ride. I see interesting things. Memories of travel, camps long abandoned, things that might have been. It is often most interesting as we ride past Haven. I wondered if the Mark on your hand would allow you some of the abilities of the Dreamer." He eyed her speculatively, and continued, "It appears that it is so."

"So we're in a trance?" She asked. "Together?"

Speculation turned to approval, and he said, "An excellent way of putting it."

"So what do we do? Float along and watch?"

"Precisely. And hopefully learn something."

They were silent for a little while as they did just that. Her mark pulsed steadily, and he wished he could move closer as he felt the draw of his magic. It was just as well, closer was bad, very bad. He instead allowed its familiar thrum to wash over him. It was a sensation he had not felt in the fade so strongly in a very long time. It beat slowly, steadily, in time to the beat of a heart. He listened for her own heartbeat, in counterpoint to the pulse of the Mark. He looked at her left hand, as it hung at her side. He squinted, for there appeared to be a nearly invisible trail of green smoke coming off it, and drifting past him to point where it stopped and curled up, as if it were being blown into a wall. He shook his head, and turned to peer at her. 

Irgaine was looking down, and they were going past Haven, as below them a memory of a wedding played out, where they could hear happy music playing and there was clapping and dancing and laughing. She was delighted, and watched with interest. When it was too far behind them for the music to be heard, he narrowed his eyes to study her Mark again, and the mysterious smoke coming off it. If he were actually Dreaming, he could move about the Fade and try to dredge up the memory that tickled his mind. With Skimming, he got to see other possibilities, other worlds, but was stuck in one place, and could only watch as they passed him by.

He would wait until nightfall, and camp. Until then, they Skimmed.

\---

There were at least twenty-five people gathered around a massive campfire, constructed by the Chargers, and two whole goats, cut up into pieces, roasted in the coals near the bottom, wrapped in leaves and spices. Blackwall, bless him, had strapped a keg of Ferelden Pale to the seat of the prisoners' wagon next to him, and of course, a few people brought cards. Irgaine had a tiny, four stringed guitar, and was playing exotic-sounding wordless tunes on it. They drank and ate and generally had a good time. The Iron Bull sat in the corner near the supply tables, eating a haunch of goat and sharing a flagon of beer with Dorian. Cassandra sat across from Varric, and the dwarf spoke. "Anyone for cards?" There were varying degrees of assent, and they waited for Bull to finish eating before they started playing. It was maybe an hour before Cassandra stood up and said, "Gentlemen, that is all the coin I am willing to lose. Good evening." Her eyes flicked to Varric's, and then to her tent, a gesture not unnoticed by the Bull. He hid his smile as he said goodnight, and it was maybe four more hands before Varric disappeared. Bull noted he went two tents over. His surprise didn't last long when he spotted a Stealthed figure moving in the brush behind the row of canvases.

\---

Cassandra barely stifled a yelp when Varric appeared in front of her. She'd stretched out her bedroll, laid atop a large bearskin, and was already out of her armor. He grinned and whispered, "Hello, Seeker."

Before she spoke she walked to him, put her arms around him, and brushed a kiss to his lips. "You startled me."

He pulled her back down to him and kissed her again, this time more heatedly, flicking his tongue across her lips. They parted for him, and his tongue was soon mingling with hers. She grunted and reached for the buttons of his tunic, pulling it off his shoulders and dropping it to the ground. Soon she was running her hands over the pleasantly soft hair on his chest, and she was slowly leading him back to her bedroll. He untied the laces of her blouse, and they broke apart long enough for him to pull it off over her head. 

When they made it to the bedroll, he looked down at it, then back up at her. "Ah, are you sure about this?" He whispered again, as his arms closed around her. He kissed her collarbone and nipped a trail back up to her ear. He flicked the lobe with his tongue, and Cassandra couldn't stifle a moan. Hopefully, it was drowned out by the noises of the party going on outside.

"I am sure. We will not see each other for, maybe, two months? I wanted to...before we part ways again." She knelt in front of him, still in her breastband and trousers, and pressed herself to Varric, to whisper in his ear, "Unless you do not want to." She nipped at him, at the junction of his neck and shoulder, and rolled her hips into his. His cock twitched and he groaned and gave her a playful shove on to her back, on the leather side of the bearskin.

"Of course I do." He lay down next to her, and slid a hand across her abdomen, then up to the ties of her band, finally releasing the two soft golden orbs. Varric bit his lip, appreciatively, then took one nipple in his mouth, rolling and sucking on it, while his other hand rubbed and stroked the other. Her hands found the tie in his hair and he smiled a little as he teased her. She did seem to enjoy running her fingers through it. 

"We should probably try to stay quiet though. I don't want to be interrupted." She whispered again.

He grinned at her as he unlaced her leathers and began to pull them down her hips. "I like a challenge." He looked up at her, finally nude before him, and his eyes widened. She was gorgeous, and he told her so, before crawling back up her legs, laying soft wet kisses up the long beautiful lengths. There was a spot behind her left knee that made her gasp, and when his lips dragged across the tops of her thighs and settled at the apex of her curls, they reflexively tightened together.

He looked up, a question in his eyes. She said, "I've never...no one has ever..."

"That's a shame, Seeker. I won't, if you don't want me to."

She shook her head and whispered, "I want you to."

Her legs fell apart, golden thigh muscles glistening under a thin sheen of sweat, and he ran his hands up them slowly, before settling between them and pulling her nether lips apart with his thumbs. He blew softly on her, and she shuddered, before his head dipped, and --

_Oh, Maker._ His tongue whirled around her nub, and her hips moved involuntarily. Varric's palms held them down as his mouth assaulted her senses. It was so hard to stay silent, but she would be as quiet as a Chantry mouse if it meant he would not stop. She found her hands in his hair as he nipped and laved and sucked at her, and heat puddled in her belly while moisture gathered between her legs.

Varric smiled against her clit as he tasted her, honey and cream, and something spicy. He was quite proud of himself, as he brought her over the edge with a finger curled against the sweet spot at the top of her walls. Her body tensed, she clenched around his finger, and he watched in amazement as she came with a soundless scream.

She fell back to the bearskin, panting and shuddering. He crawled up her body to her mouth and kissed her, with the taste still on his tongue, and she moaned and reached for his sash, untying it and loosening his laces to push his trousers and smalls down in one motion. His hard cock settled on her stomach as they kissed, and her hands drifted down his back to grab his ass and help grind him against her. His mouth released hers and trailed a line down her chest to her breasts again, and he settled his hips between her legs.

"Are you sure, Cassandra?"

"Maker, Varric, _please!_

The tip of his shaft teased her opening, and she grunted when he gently nudged inside of her. He worked the tip in and out slowly, watching her face as she looked up at him. Her pupils were wide, her mouth hung open, and she held his awestruck gaze as he worked his way into her. When he was finally fully sheathed, he pulled out and carefully went in again. She moaned quietly as he slid out a third time, and wrapped her legs around him.

"Fuck me." She whispered, and he growled, and his hips sped up, driving into her. Cassandra's head fell back and her eyes slid closed. Her forearm flew to her face, and she muffled her cries with it, finally unable to help herself. His head dipped to her breasts again, teasing her nipples with gentle bites while he built her climax. He could feel it coming, feel her slick heat pumping around him as he drove her onwards, and she clenched up around him again and her hand knotted the bearskin beneath her. She bit her arm, and came hard, stars bursting behind her eyes.

A few more strokes had him spurting hotly into her. Varric collapsed on top of her and murmured her name. 

A few minutes passed, and they lay there, still joined, panting and basking in the afterglow. Finally Varric said, softly. "Can I take off my boots now?"

She laughed unguardedly, as she rolled him off her. It was a lovely, throaty sound, just for him, one he hoped to hear much more of. He sat and pulled off his boots and trousers, then pulled up the blanket and settled on his side next to her, his head propped on his hand. His other arm slid around her waist, and she rolled to face him, resting her head on her bent arm. They looked at each other without speaking, and she lifted her other hand to caress his jaw, and run a thumb along his cheek. She scooted closer to him and reached up to kiss him.

They relaxed in each other's arms, and the world fell away. There was no war, no journey ahead, no campfire tales being told or card games being played in the camp outside. There was only the two of them, their kisses stealing each other's breath, hands caressing, arousing, memorizing each other's bodies in the dark. Varric pulled her up on top of him, and she reached down to grab his hardness and position it so she could plunge herself down on top of it. He groaned as she began to ride him, tilting her hips up with each roll. His fingers dug into her hips, and he looked up at her, at her taut stomach and glorious chest bouncing up and down, and her dark eyes drawing him in. She smiled down at him as he reached up for her breasts again, this time pinching her nipples, sending chilling bursts of arousal to her core. Her head fell back, and her hips sped up when his hand trailed down to where their bodies joined, and he stroked her clit as she fucked him.

Cassandra leaned down to kiss Varric, hands on either side of his head, moaning into his mouth. He kept his hand between them, but his other one pulled on her hip, showing her the pace he wanted. She obliged, and after a while longer his back arched up. She swallowed his cry as he climaxed, and in a moment he had flipped her over on to her back, pulling his cock out of her and instead entering her with two fingers, his thumb dancing around her slick folds. She hummed and whispered, "That's really nice," as she rolled into his hand. He brought her, quickly and fiercely, to the edge and over again, shuddering and sweating, heels thrumming on the ground.

The tent was warm, and they pulled the blanket up around themselves once more. Cassandra lay on her back, and Varric curled up along her side as though he was made to fit there, one arm draped across her and his chest pressed to her side, his head pillowed on one breast. He pecked a kiss to it, and she chuckled and put her arm around his shoulders, and enjoyed his steady heat while they fell, exhausted, to sleep.

\---

The Lady Inquisitor herself took the first watch that night, with Solas and Stitches. They walked around the camp at an even pace as silently as possible, and equidistant from each other in a triangle. They did this for three hours, and all was well. She sent Stiches for his relief, and widened the distance between herself and the Elven apostate, to even out the coverage of the camp. Krem appeared, and Solas nodded to him, then Irgaine, and went off to fetch the Bull.

All Irgaine wanted, was her bedroll. She would be sleeping in her armor, from the desire to sleep as long as possible, and knowing there was a bath house on the outskirts of Rainesfere, where they would arrive not long after dusk tomorrow. She knew that not one of her companions would object to a stop there (or the one outside Emprise du Lion) before a long road of dust and sand. And so her head was down as she went into the tent she shared with Cassandra. A sliver of moonlight snuck through the loose lacing so Irgaine had so lazily tied at the top when she set it up. It illuminated just enough for her to see Cassandra, bare as birth, laying on her side, _curled around Varric._

They were damned adorable, all wound around each other, his head on her bosom, which even Irgaine had to admit was mostly perfect, not too large or small, with small dusky nipples that heaved with her every breath. Varric's face nuzzled between them, and he whimpered happily, tightening his arms around the Seeker. The blankets were tucked around his waist, and over her legs, and the were the picture of satisfaction as they slept. So Irgaine silently, quickly backed away, and instead went back out to patrol. 

Bull looked at her funny when she reappeared. "Seeker's unavailable, huh?"

"How'd you know?" She asked as a yawn cracked her teeth.

The Iron Bull smirked lasciviously. "Played cards with them earlier. Saw someone sneaking behind the tents. No one's dead, so..."

Krem called across the camp, "Go to bed, Inquisitor."

Bull looked down at her and smiled. "I'll go fetch Rocky. He's probably still awake. You can crash in my tent tonight, when we get back."

"Thanks, Bull."

"No problem."

\---

A good, hard, six hour sleep claimed her, and when she got up out of Bull's giant, surprisingly soft bedroll, she felt plenty refreshed as she strode out of his tent. She found Cassandra brushing her horse and laying a blanket across the Orlesian Courser's back. Irgaine's hands were working at rearranging her travel bun, and she strode up to her friend cheerfully. "A good morning to you, Lady Cassandra!" She chirped. 

The Seeker turned to face her, an apology on her lips, but the Inquisitor held up a hand. "Listen to me. I know you completely forgot about second watch last night, and not a one of us blames you. Rocky covered you and is currently snoring in the Chargers' supply wagon. No one, and I mean it, begrudges you a night of happiness. Also, if I may say, you have an excellent rack." Cassandra turned beet red as Irgaine smiled at her. "It will not happen again."

"It will not, on my word." The Seeker agreed. "And thank you."

"I expect it will be a long journey to the Marches for you."

"Made even longer, I assume, by the rain of shit I'm going to get from the Bull."

Irgaine snorted a laugh. "Well, don't look now. Good morning, Varric."

"Inquisitor. Seeker." They way these two women were looking at him, both amused, sent chills down his spine. "What?"

"You tell him, Lady Cassandra. I'll have plenty of time to chat on the road." Irgaine pulled Cassandra into a quick hug, patted the Courser on the nose, and went to find breakfast.

"Tell me what?" Varric said warily as he watched her walk away. She seemed to have had good rest, wherever she'd slept. Cassandra smirked down at him. "Tell me what, Seeker?" He asked again, more suspiciously this time.

"I was supposed to take second watch last night. I...forgot."

His mouth turned down. Varric said, "And Irgaine came to fetch you to relieve her, and we were asleep. Together."

She moved closer to him and said quietly, "She said I have a nice 'rack.'"

That made him smile again, and close the distance between them. "You really do. Since the cat is out of the bag," his foot darted out, and he tripped Cassandra into his arms, and kissed her throughly. Sera was the first to notice and let out a huge whoop. Herding, next to her began to clap, and shortly they were kissing to the cheers of the entire camp.

Her arms wound around his neck as he stood her on her feet again, and released her lips with a dashing smile. "Promise to stay safe, Seeker?"

"I'll do my best," she said, blushing prettily and smiling. "You too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Cuteness! Sweetness! And soon, So. Much. Sarcasm.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	16. A Long Journey to Ostwick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the package. With bonus verbal chainsaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, last Sunday I had a fresh new chapter just for you, with the aforementioned Sarcasm. And my IPad ate it whole. Om nom nom. So this week, to thank you for your patience, the first of two brand-new chapters! And I'll be more careful what buttons I press in the future.

Their small party departed on the first ship to Kirkwall from Redcliffe, and spent two weeks on the water.

Cassandra found the sea soothing, and the rocking of the ship on the waves made sleep come easily to her. She was well rested the morning before they arrived in the Marches, and she leaned against the bough, watching the sun glitter off the surface of the water. Heels clicked on the wooden planks of the deck behind her, and inwardly she groaned, but stubbornly kept her face still as she turned to face Lady Vivienne, who was, as always, entirely overdressed for their journey, in an ornate red-and-gold robe and heeled boots. 

Madame de Fer sniffed disdainfully as she stepped over the coil of rope Cassandra stood next to on the port side of the ship, next to the chained-up gangway. To Cassandra's surprise, the woman strode carefully and accurately, adjusting her gait for every motion of the ship. She arrived at the railing and leaned against it with a predatory grin, and said, "Good morning, Lady Pentaghast."

Cassandra smiled slightly. She did not wish to put off the Iron Lady, as she had seen it draw negative consequences before. However, she suspected that whatever discussion Vivienne had in mind was personal, and probably none of the woman's business, busybody as she was. So the Seeker kept her mouth shut, and waited patiently for Vivienne to speak.

"How did you find the dresses, my dear?"

"They're lovely. Thank you."

"If all I do is dress the less fashion forward members of the Inquisition, I'm still doing Thedas a service. Irgaine is allowing me to bring in Jeanne-Marie from Val Royeaux, to style us for Halamshiral. She'll stay and make Irgaine some new clothing, I don't see why we couldn't keep her around a bit longer for you." Vivienne smiled. "Though in honesty wardrobe discussions are not why I sought you out today."

"I suspected that was the case, my lady."

Minutes went by, and they were silent, watching the coast roll past them. Cassandra risked a glance over at Madame de Fer, and noticed the woman glancing sidelong at her, as if steeling herself. Vivienne said, "My lady Pentaghast, I must address with you the foolishness of your assignation with Master Tethras."

"Yes," Cassandra said drily, "I would be pleased to hear what a fool I am."

"I did not say you are a fool. I said your actions are foolish."

"I see no difference."

"Ah," Vivienne replied. "But you, I have observed, are not a fool, and I wonder if our resident author would...lead you astray."

"From what exactly?"

"I wonder, how many times in the field have you had to choose between the Inquisitor's safety and Master Varric's? And if it came down to Irgaine, or him, which would you choose?" Vivienne looked out to the coastline. 

"I know my duty, Lady Vivienne."

"I'm sure. But do you know your heart?"

"What an uninformed question. It occurs to me, my lady, that this is the first time you and I will be traveling together at length." Cassandra said. "I have recently had a large amount of time to explore my heart. But you have been busy exploring the lengths to which you can manipulate Irgaine. Tell me, how many of your Circle tomes has she found? And how many times has she put herself in danger doing so?"

"She is in very little danger climbing ladders." Vivienne sniffed. "And finding my books is less fraught with difficulty than uncovering whatever happened to your missing Order."

"So the danger on the way to those ladders is unimportant?" Cassandra said, staring hard into Vivienne's weighing hazel eyes. "When we find the rest of the Seekers, if it is dangerous..."

"You'll what? Tell the Herald her life is in danger? Oh, no! However shall she cope? Andraste forfend she should be hurt."

"Do not mock me."

Vivienne grunted. "Don't make it so easy. You will be surprised to know I am actually trying to help."

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Certainly. You help me to know that there will always be someone who does not understand, but has an opinion anyway."

The two women's eyes met again, and Vivienne said quietly, "I merely suggest that a princess of Nevarra might be shunned for her relationship with a second son surfacer Deshyr. There may be suggestions that she is...sullying the line."

"Suggestions? What do I care for the line? You do realize, that seventy-seven people need to die, before I am the queen of anything?"

"And yet the possibility exists. And so I ask, do you actually envision a future with him?"

"Whether I do or don't, it is not your business how I feel, or who I feel it with. And I will thank you for your silence on the matter."

"I...apologize, Lady Cassandra. My choice of words was poor. I forget, it is a new situation for you, and perhaps there are things you had not thought on?" Vivienne's hands rested on the railing, and her perfect nails glinted as the ship moved. "Perhaps there are things the two of you had not thought to discuss? Again, I caution you, your...alliance may give you some trouble down the road. There are already rumblings in Val Royeaux as to who will sit as the next Divine. Would you sacrifice even your minute chances for what may be a meaningless fling?"

"Are you suggesting that ambition should lead my thinking? Or that what I feel for Varric has no meaning for me? I don't share my bedroll frequently, or lightly, and I certainly don't think on political maneuvers as I lay down. Of course, I could not expect someone who is proudly introduced in public as a Duke's mistress to understand." Cassandra pushed away from the railing and strode to the stairs that led below deck. "I advise you, Madame de Fer, that the next time you offer an unsolicited opinion on someone else's doings, you first examine your own. When and if Varric and I have such a discussion, be assured, you will be the last to know."

Cassandra would remember the look on Vivienne's face for a long time. She was damned proud of herself as she went belowdecks. 

\---

She'd prepared for the long journey over the sea by purchasing a sheaf of vellum and a new quill and ink pot set similar to the one she had seen Varric carry on the road. She smiled a little, thinking of him, before she sat down at the small table built into the wall in her little cabin. As the soothing sounds of the quill scratching along the paper filled the room, the ship rocked back and forth, so her handwriting made little waves up and down the page.

_The broad-shouldered Chevalier strokes his pitch black beard as he regards Lorelai. She is a vision with her rich red hair flowing down her back over the bodice of the dress she wears, hiding the handle of the dagger she has sheathed at the back of her neck. The bodice pushes her breasts up, and not for the first time that evening, he envisions her getting into a fight in it, and spilling out of the top..._

Stop it, _he thinks to himself. There is no honor in coveting the body of any woman, much less his leader, whom he had sworn to protect. She says his name, and his eyes snap up to hers. She is smiling at him, knowingly, before she speaks._

_"Whitebridge, is there something you see, that you like?" Lorelai's eyes twinkle at him._

_"I wasn't-"_

_"You were. And so I ask again, do you see something you like? I grow tired of this dance we have been doing." She walks away from the din of the ballroom, out on to a balcony overlooking the gardens. He follows her, and watches as she leans over the railing with - Maker help him - her backside dangling in the air and plucks a single yellow rose from the trellises below. She stands again, and turns to face him, holding it out to him. "I will understand if you are truly uninterested. But then, you must stop looking at me so."_

_"I cannot help myself, my lady." His deep voice rumbles over her, and he reaches out a hand to take the rose. As he does, her other hand clasps his wrist, and he finds himself moving closer to her. "You look lovely tonight."_

_Strains of music come to them, and Whitebridge impulsively pulls her into his arms, leading her about the balcony in a courtly dance. Lorelai blushes prettily and looks at him through her eyelashes and says, "This is much better."_

\---

Kirkwall was not what the Seeker expected. Varric would joke about it being a dingy, dirty, messy place, but he'd never said that it was so _loud._ They hauled their bags from one ship, to another with a giant spinning wheel in the back that Iron Bull marveled at, that would take them upriver to Ostwick. Vivienne kept a careful distance from Cassandra as they pressed through the filthy throngs of people at the docks. A hawker shouted about candied almonds, and she remembered Varric speaking fondly of them. She paused and bought some, then carefully folded them into one of the pockets of her roll up waterproof. Bull bought three bags, and passed out handfuls to Cole, and the Iron Lady, and the Seeker.

They were delicious! Cassandra went back and bought some more, and then made a game of throwing them into Bull's mouth. Cole thought they smelled nice, and watched happily as Bull leaned back to catch another snack. They boarded the riverboat, and found their rooms, all in a row on the third tier of cabins. 

Hers had the requisite table bolted to the wall, a small bed, and a window that gave an excellent view of the riverside, from its twenty foot height. The cabins on three floors ringed around a dining area and casino, and the first few nights they rode the river they played diamondback for coppers at as small table against the wall, with a smarmy Dwarven dealer named Stovor. Eventually the man started to come to Bull’s room with a bottle of Uager and a bottle of white wine, and they all sat around the Bull's cabin as he dealt, and took shots with them out of the bottles.

Cassandra was used to drinking the cinnamon flavored liqueur, and Vivienne was not, and on the fifth and final night of their journey on the river, the two women found themselves plastered, inside Bull's cabin, sitting with their backs to the wall side by side. The Iron Lady turned to the Seeker and said, "The reason I only drink wine is this. I cannot hold my liquor."

"The Marcher stuff is quite strong." She agreed. "Cole, pass us the water pitcher, please."

The boy had turned out to be a quick study at cards, and glanced away as he handed it to her. He was winning a substantial pile of coin from Bull, and Stovor was laughing at the expression on the Qunari's face as the boy turned over yet another winning hand. Cassandra was taking a long, cool drink when Vivenne said, "I must apologize to you, Seeker."

She choked on the water, coughed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I beg your pardon."

Vivienne's head swung a bit drunkenly toward her. "I am apologizing to you. I am sorry for speaking out of turn."

"Ah, I don't know what to say." 

"Please, say you accept. It has been a long while since there has been anyone in my life that did not try to find a way to use me for some purpose. And now I am surrounded by them. It is difficult, after so many years of duplicity and defensiveness, for me to speak honestly without turning my words into weapons." She paused and drank from the pitcher with a grimace, then set it on the floor between them. "Even my dear Bastien has other uses for me, besides the obvious one. But after some thought, I realized how long the journey was, between the two of you, and how much your relationship has changed. It is refreshing to see a romance so...sincere."

"I..." The room was dead silent, and everyone stared at the Circle mage. "I accept. And thank you for your kind words."

"I shall endeavor to keep them so in the future." Vivienne promised. "And should the road to your missing Order be dangerous, I offer to walk it with you."

"Agreed." Cassandra held out her hand, and Vivienne grasped it between her two. "I am sorry I accused you of manipulating Irgaine. It seems to me now that you were simply asking a friend for help, as I have with the Seekers."

They locked eyes for a moment. Vivienne nodded, then stood up, and said, "A good night to you all. Remember we have an early start tomorrow."

She almost stumbled out, gently shutting the door behind her. The four of them stared at each other, until Cole said, "Hope. Flowers growing through the cracks of a wall."

Cassandra stood up as well and smiled. "Good night, gentlemen." She took one more pull from the bottle of Uager before she left.

\---

The sun was rising when they emerged from their cabins the next morning, and they all trundled out to the deck, and then down the gang plank. Ostwick was a city stacked upon itself. Rows and rows of towering, red-roofed homes one on top of another, trailed off into the distance, flowing eastward around a system of canals. She knew that if you followed the canals far enough, you would reach a large lake, closed by a dam in what would have been a valley, if men had not decided to build a city here.

To the west, the the homes became richer and richer, and also had red roofs, and the canals flowed around courtyards and bridges, into a large bazaar. A huge wall separated the city from the countryside to the west, that went on for a great distance to the north sheltering the horse racing and training fields in its shadow. Northeast, in the middle of the city, lay Bescheiden Keep, home of Bann Trevelyan. Three towers rose up from its the white walls, and the canals all converged into three straight, wide inlets leading to three oval gates, and full flowering planters between the paved walkways. There was no direct route from the river to the keep, and any invading force would have to fight through the maze of canals in the city, or suffer the trek over the high rolling hills to the north, or the swampland to the east. All in all, it was a highly defensible city, and Cassandra found herself marveling at its design.

Bull wasted no time in procuring the largest punting boats he could find, captained by small Elven women. The captain of the craft Cassandra rode in with Bull and Cole and Vivienne bit the silver she was paid, then began to maneuver it westward, using a great long pole, instead of a paddle. Paved paths lined these canals, too, and men and women paused at stared at the Qunari, and then at the boat behind them, which held the motley crew that was the Chargers.

The city was quite colorful. Here and there groups of smiths repaired the foot bridges, and cadres of Chantry sisters tended to the urns of foliage dotting the walkways. The people wore riotous colors. Women in dresses with plunging necklines, and skirts cut up the sides to exposed brightly colored petticoats. Men wore tunics and leather breeches in all shades. Everyone, from the small child chasing a mabari, to the crone they rode past selling apples, had a knife belted to their waist. Vivienne observed, "Look at their faces. Have you seen anyone smile since we've arrived here?"

She was right. The people looked angry. The stares, she observed, were turning to glares, and as they passed the bazaar, what could have been the normal sounds of chatter and haggling had a sharper edge to them. The whole city seemed tense, and when they reached a gate in the wall of the keep, the guards looked at them nastily. Cassandra said. "We are the Inquisition, here to see Bann Luther Trevelyan."

The man scowled as he eyed Iron Bull, but he reached for the lever, and opened the gate, having decided that the Qunari and his party were over his pay grade. He shouted into the tunnel it opened on to, "Inquisition, for the Bann!"

The elves steered them into the tunnel, which was lit at intervals by oil cisterns, and they rode in silence until the tunnel opened out into a large courtyard. The boat pulled up to a dock with a set of stairs attached. It took some time for everyone to unload from the two small boats, and by then a familiar voice was ringing through the courtyard. "Inquisition! Welcome!" 

Gareth trotted across the courtyard, his straight auburn hair swinging around his face. He excitedly surveyed the party, smiling briefly at Rocky, before asking, "Where's Irgaine?"

"Probably all the way in the west of Orlais, by now." the Iron Bull replied. 

"Then what are you doing here?" His expression hardened. "This is about the fish, isn't it? That's why she sent the Seeker."

"Yes. That is why I am here." Cassandra nodded. "Irgaine wanted to help, but could not ignore the Fade Rifts in the Western Approach. She hopes that we can be of assistance in her stead."

Another red haired man appeared from a door in the wall, and approached them quickly. Garett's expression soured further. "She's not here, Agra."

"Of course not," the man snorted. "All big and blown up, she is, on her grand adventure while the rest if us rot away in Ostwick, unable to leave the keep."

Gareth sighed, and made introductions. "This is my elder brother, Agravaine Trevelyan." Agravaine bore the same nose and tilted eyes as his brother and half-sister, but the resemblance ended there. He was balding, with curly brown hair, tied back in a short ponytail. The slope of his eyebrows made even a neutral expression seem ominous, and even though he was at least a hand shorter than Cassandra herself, the Seeker's instincts made her extremely wary of him.

Cole whispered in her ear, dourly, "Jealousy twists, like a knife in the gut, sharp like dragon glass. How dare that little bitch rise above us?"

Agravaine frowned at the boy, but could not hear him, and spoke instead to Cassandra. "My lord Father will wish to see you. Gareth, see the Chargers to the vacant bunks in the Barracks. And have the eastern tower prepared for our guests. Follow me, please."

_Thank you, Cole,_ Cassandra thought. 

"Of course," Cole said to her.

The Trevelyans parted ways, and Agravine took Cole's words as assent, and led them through the door in the wall, while the Chargers followed Gareth in the other direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have taken liberties with a few things. Marcher geography, what Ostwick probably looks like, Vivienne having an actual human heart and not a pitch black hole of despair.
> 
> Oh yeah, a cookie for people who spot the Wheel of time reference here.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	17. The Things You Find In the Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to the Westen Approach pays unexpected dividends....and don't gamble with Grey Wardens.

The long and dusty road lay behind them as they pulled the carriage up to the Fortress. Irgaine dismounted and strode to the door, pulling on the heavy rope of the bell that hung above them. It rang once and she let go, and a window opened in the massive black door. "Inquisition," the guard said. "State your names."

"I am Irgaine Trevelyan. This is Varric Tethras, Solas, Warden-Constable Blackwall, who brings prisoners and recruits."

Blackwall smiled at her introduction, at her respect of Warden custom, and saluted her with a fist over his heart as the gates began to open. He drove the carriage in as the others followed, and pulled up to a wooden platform next to the entrance to the keep proper. One of the other grey Wardens took the keys from Blackwall and began to unlock the door of the carriage. The men and women filed out, and he held out a sheet of vellum with their names and offenses on it. There was an audible gasp from the assembled Wardens when Livius Erimond emerged, blindfolded and chained. 

Irgaine sat her horse looking calm, but on the inside she was jittery and impatient. She supposed it would be rude to refuse an offer of hospitality from the Wardens, but it put off their mission for yet another day. She was anxious to _get on with it!_ and get back to Skyhold, and Cullen. But she waited, quietly, and her stomach roiled. Varric nudged his horse closer to hers, and put a comforting hand on her arm. He held out a small apple and she took it, smiling. "Thanks, Varric."

"No problem."

While she snacked Erimond was dragged off into the main hall of the keep, past piles of rubble, and beams laid in stacks, five by five. The rest of the prisoners, including Mayor Dedrick, were led to a wide double door on the west wall, surrounded by a larger cadre of Grey Wardens, who filed into the smaller hall with them. A Dwarven woman wearing a Warden-Captain's badge swung the door shut behind them and barred it, turning to face the small party.

Irgaine blinked. For a moment, she only saw Ingrid, and almost choked on her apple. Of course it wasn't her, and she said, "Lady Inquisitor, Warden-Commander Stroud requests your presence." She bowed, and turned to lead them up the stairs. "This way."

She shot the apple core into the trash pile as she dismounted, and followed the Warden up the stairs, trailed by the other companions. Inside, the great hall was cleaned, windows polished, banners hanging proudly from the rafters. Rows of tables lined one wall, across from rows of bookshelves on the other. There was a small dais, and in a carved wooden chair upon it sat a compact, dark haired man with a spectacular mustache that gleamed in the torchlight above them. He stood, and smiled warmly at them, stepping down once before crossing the room to greet them. He bowed, and took her hand. "We meet again, Lady Trevelyan." She gave the tiniest curtesy, barely bending her knee, tilting her head ever so slightly. It was a gesture of respect more than anything, as truly, the Inquisitor needed bow to no one.

His smile warmed further, and Irgaine felt Varric bristle behind her as Stroud inched a bit closer to her. "Welcome to Adamant Fortress." He released her hand and backed away, gesturing to the other men. "Warden-Constable, thank you for bringing us more people. We lost many warriors in Clairel's disaster. How many, exactly?"

"Eleven," replied Blackwall, "Six volunteers, from various places."

"They shall all have their Trials soon enough. Tonight, would you consent to visiting with us here?" Further off in the keep, the smell of roasted mutton wafted out to them. "Join us for a meal?"

The Inquisitor looked to her companions, who all silently agreed, and nodded. "We would be honored, Warden-Commander. Thank you."

\---

The next morning Irgaine woke with a splitting headache and a sour taste in her mouth. She remembered a haunch of Mutton, some vegetables, and lots and lots of Grey Whiskey. Maker, was there strip Diamondback? Her eyes opened to reveal her small modest guest quarters, her leathers and blouse and breeches neatly folded, set on the table next to her boots. At least she still had her smalls and breastband on. She rolled her eyes and kicked off her blankets, then went to the basin to wash up. A familiar voice said behind her, "I don't mind the view, but for your sake you might want pants."

Irgaine whirled, hands going to her chest in shock, hair spinning its red-gold halo around her. "Varric! What are you doing in here?"

"Came to wake you. Not necessarily to see your bum." He chuckled. He was sitting, cross-legged on top of the covers, which were rumpled but not slept in on that side, fully dressed and armored. "Not that I haven't seen it before."

She sighed and deliberately turned back around to finish washing up. When she was done she dressed and then sat next to him on the bed to pull on her boots. "Did I do anything stupid last night?"

"I'm pretty sure you had to fend off a handsy Warden-Captain. I lost my best tunic at diamondback, Solas hates beer so he went to bed. I don't know where Blackwall went. Probably some Grey Warden thing. I'm told that there is breakfast in the dining hall, and we should get underway soon, or we'll end up staying another night here." He hopped down from the bed as she shrugged her hunting coat on and strapped her daggers to her back. She looked around the room one last time, and grabbed her pack before shutting the door behind them.

\---

Breakfast was a noisy affair, much like it was at Skyhold, or home at Bescheiden, with the requisite dour faced cook and scampering servants. The rowdy table of men and women laughing on the other end of the hall reminded the party of meals back at their keep, and they all shared a brief smile as they ate. After a short time, Stroud joined them and said, "Nine of the recruits you brought survived their Trials. The Grey Wardens of Orlais owe you no small debt."

"And what will you do with Erimond?" Blackwall asked. 

"Hang him, most likely. We don't need more of his blood magic."

"I should have just chopped his head off and saved you the trouble."

"As with any gift," Stroud replied, "It's the thought that counts."

A scullery maid came by to clear their dishes, and they all chatted amiably as the Warden-Commander escorted them to the stables and their mounts. Irgaine said, "We thank you, Ser Stroud, for your generous hospitality."

"The Inquisition is always welcome at Adamant Fortress."

\---

It took two more days to reach Griffon Wing Keep to drop off their mounts, but it was only a few miles' walk to Lost Wash Creek. On the way, they battled Quillbacks and Venatori. Irgaine downed a regeneration potion as she descended the ladders down into the creek. There was a cave across the shallow water, and she paused to pick some spindleweed and blood lotus while the men rested in the shade and refilled their water skins. "Blackwall, take point." She said as she finished rolling the samples into her satchel.

After a few minutes' walk, they spotted a lone Inquisition soldier battling a creature three times her size, defending her wounded comrade from it. Blackwall shouted a warning as the great scaly creature swiped at her. Fortunately it was enough to distract the Varghest so she could get her shield up in time to block the blow. Solas held up a hand, and the Varghest's claw froze solid and fell to the ground with a thunk. 

Varric fired bolt after bolt at the creature, but most bounced off. Irgaine appeared behind it, and drove her blades into it, finding a soft spot under one of its legs. The creature roared over its shoulder, and a great belch of fire came out of its mouth, headed straight for her. Right on time, Solas' aquamarine barrier sprung up around her, shielding her from the flames and the impact of its next blow, which pushed her out of its way and onto her back on the ground. She skidded some feet away, and hit the stone side of the canyon with a thump before the barrier winked out.

As she caught her breath, the soldier and Blackwall closed on the Varghest, holding their shields against another gout of flame, and bashing them into its head, first the soldier on one side then Blackwall, dazing it, on the other. Solas mustered up a very large Winter's Grasp spell, enveloping the beast in ice. Irgaine dove back in to the fray, jumping on the Varghest's back and driving her daggers in above its shoulders even as both warriors moved in with their shields to shatter the beast into pieces.

Irgaine fell to the ground in the spray of ice and blood and rolled over out of it, retching. She vomited noisily into the grass, and went to the stream to rinse her mouth, and drink the cool water. "Should have rethought my tactics." She finally choked out. "That was disgusting."

The soldier saluted Blackwall, choosing to ignore the Inquisitor's less than dignified state. "Soldier Wejes, Ser." She pointed to her compatriot, whose wounds were being tended by Solas. "That's Templar-Lieutenant Bigg. Knight-Captain Rylen sent ten of us after the Varghest. If you hadn't shown up when you did...Thank you, ser!"

The Templar stood, with a little help from Solas, and flexed her right elbow with a smile. "Many thanks, Ser Mage." Solas blinked, evidently shocked by her manners. She reached out her right hand for him to shake, and he did, slowly and somberly. 

"Will you make it back to the Keep on your own?" Blackwall asked.

"With the Varghest gone, orders are to patrol until reinforcements come." Bigg replied.

\---

The companions trudged on, to the bridges over the sulphur pits, through Death Drink Springs and then up the stairs onto the old road, paved in white stone dusted over with sand. It was ancient, once deep markings now faded except for a few characters here and there. She looked at Solas and opened her mouth to ask a question but he held up a hand, gesturing for her to look ahead. 

A massive, seething Darkspawn Alpha patrolled the road, with few smaller minions milling around. She grimaced and pointed to a small path leading up the side of the rock outcropping on their left. Varric disappeared into stealth, and she watched as Solas clambered up to a spot just out of earshot from her and Blackwall. Solas smirked at her and started forward, stalking, as she followed Varric silently, after shattering a vial of stealth powder against her chest. When Varric bellowed and threw his chain, five Darkspawn closed on him. Irgaine moved around behind the pack and waited for Varric's caltrops to drop underneath them before she sprang in, slashing hamstrings and a throat before hiding again as Blackwall howled at the Alpha and engaged it head on.

The hulking beast's massive hammer scraped the grounded as he swung it up over his head. Blackwall held up his shield but the force of the blow sent him to his knees, and while Varric and Solas dispatched the smaller spawn, Irgaine rolled forward and pushed her hands into the ground, rearing both feet at the Alpha in the midst of his down swing, knocking him forward onto the raised point of Blackwall's longsword and driving it through the monster's chest. The Alpha howled in rage and pain, before Irgaine sliced his head clean off, sweeping both blades sideways across each other. Blackwall kept his shield up as the thing bled a fountain from the stump of his neck, dropped to his knees, and fell over.

They climbed more stairs and found what looked like mining equipment, and a pulley-system elevator that dropped into black depths beneath.

\---

"Giants. For heavy lifting." Blackwall snorted as he tugged off his boots to empty them of sand and rocks. Solas set up their tent, and promptly curled up in it after lighting a fire for the rest of the group. "Damn Venatori idiots."

Varric's dagger flew past his face and hit the ground with a loud think, skewering the snake behind the Warden. Blackwall rolled his eyes and said, "You could warn a fellow, you know." He scowled at the dwarf, who began to chuckle.

"And have you scare off dinner? Last time I had snake, it had snuck up on Choir Boy. I wonder if they just like the shiny armor?" Varric said, as he fetched his kill. It didn't take him long to clean and cut it up, and eventually he woke Solas waving a skewer of meat over his head. "Beats trail rations," he said as the groggy elf accepted it.

Irgaine, Varric, and Blackwall shared a skin of beer she'd filled from one of the kegs at Griffon Wing, and retired early, exhausted from the battles with the giants.

\----

The Mark in her hand sputtered a little bit as she stood up and looked around. She was in the Fade, but standing in their camp, where the fire still burned lowly. Solas stood across the fire from her, smiling. "I think, since we are both here, we should walk. I've been exploring the area a bit, and there is....something you need to see."

He led her off into the canyon, where, in the distance, she could see a makeshift camp, really just two blankets tied together underneath some scaffolding against the wall of yet another fortress. There was a small fire, and she could make out one figure, sitting next to it, reading a book.

She instinctively reached for her daggers, and they appeared in her hands in a moment. Solas used his staff as a walking stick in the dense sand underfoot, but it was not long before they approached the man, who stood up and brandished a staff with a skull at the top, and a wickedly curved blade at the tip. He fired two warning blasts, which Solas deflected with a barrier.

Irgaine called out to him, "We mean you no harm!" She sheathed her weapons and put her hands up in the air in front of her. 

"Inquisitor?"

The man trotted up to them, and Irgaine's mouth hung open when she saw his face. It was _Hawke_! The blood swipe across his face had long since worn off, and his sandy hair and beard were quite long, but yes, it was him, alone in the Fade, and some distance from where they had last seen him.

The Inquisitor choked out, "How? What? How?"

Solas suppressed a chuckle. "Three excellent questions."

Hawke said, "I baited the Nightmare beast away from the rift, and just kept running. It got bored with chasing me, so I kept walking until I was out of its realm. Very dull, really. This seemed as likely a place to stop as any, and I keep finding shadows of books laying around the old ruins. It's not like one needs to eat, in the Fade."

Solas continued, "I had harbored hope that we might find Hawke's body here. Varric had mentioned that his family had nothing to bury. I did not expect to find him alive. I think all we need to do is open the nearest rift in the waking world, and bring him through it, just as we did at Adamant."

It took Irgaine a few more moments to collect herself, before she said, "I suppose we could try that."

"I'm not sure how long it will take, Hawke," Solas said. He looked off to the cliffs in the distance. Demons gathered around the soft slash of green in the air. "When you see those beasts disappear, it will be time to come to the rift."

"Time passes differently here. I hope it seems soon." Hawke combed his fingers through this beard but said nothing more.

Solas' lips quirked in a half smile and said, "I guess it is time to _wake up."_

Irgaine yelped as she sat bolt upright in her tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, more cookies for getting the references here...there's Star Wars (or Final Fantasy) and a little Buffy in there, if you're a huge nerd like me and have a mind like a steel trap. Free prompt fill for you if you get the Buffy reference, cuz it's damn obscure.
> 
> Also, my Varric is going to get himself stabbed, if he keeps sneaking into ladies' sleeping spaces. Sneaky little fucker.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for your patience, and thanks for reading!


	18. A Mercy For His Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party in Ostwick continues their journey.

Bull and the Chargers easily found the door buried in the back of the keep that led to The Bluest Eye. It made an odd kind of sense to have the brothel connected to the castle in this way; it would make it easier to manage the family's less savory doings, and make it so the highborn would have access to its worldly charms at any time. After his first night of drinking there, he'd met two Carta spies, a fortune reader, and an elf with what looked like lyrium tattoos, who was having a drink while waiting to see the Madam. He looked around at the girls working, and realized something.

"There's only three girls." He turned to Krem and tapped him on the shoulder. "Krem. Three girls. Shouldn't the finest brothel in the Free Marches have more than three girls?"

"I'm sure they rotate, Chief." He said, and took a sip of his ale. "Place with a reputation like this one, all the girls are good. Don't want to create too much competition."

Bull admonished him with a glare. "No! No, don't think like that. Think like a spy!"

"I'm serious. Watch." One of the girls...seemed to cement a transaction, and led a red-faced man to two doors. She opened the one on the left, and rapped on the one on the right, and as she closed the first the second door opened, to reveal a slight woman in a deep blue gown, with a neckline that cut to her navel, and a tight hem that just barely hit her hips. Her blonde curls were piled up high on the top of her head, and her eyes were the same shining blue as her flimsy excuse of a dress. She made a beeline to the bar, and insinuated herself between Bull and Krem

There was rich gold embroidery around the edges of the neckline and fluttered sleeves of the woman's garment, and the Tailor's son in Krem had to admire the work. This was no ordinary lady of the night, then. This had to be Mira.

She smiled at him, at once undressing him with her eyes and understanding him completely, and a slow smirk slid across her face. She sidled closer to him. "I bet you're Krem."

Her hip was grinding against his thigh, and after a moment of collecting himself, he said, "I bet you're Mira."

She leaned in to him, to whisper in his ear, "Put your arm around my waist." 

Krem's mouth went dry, but he complied, and set down his mug of ale to tilt her head to the side with his other hand. His face was very close to her neck, and he whispered, "Got a message for the chief?"

"I'm Mira," she confirmed , loudly enough to be heard for a few feet around her. "I've heard about you Chargers." Krem was helpless as she grabbed his face and kissed him soundly, and then nuzzled the side of his neck and murmured, "There is a passage under the east tower that leads to some caverns below the keep. Find your answers there."

"Do you think I am made of money, woman?" Krem said loudly. Her hand slipped a key into his, as he roughly shoved her away. He stood up, and so did Bull, and they went out the door and around the front of the keep, walking in the moonlight to the small punt that led to their quarters in the east tower.

Bull rumbled, "Remind me to show you how to be a spy. That was absolutely awful. Terrible."

"Wasn't too bad on my end, chief." Krem said, rubbing rouge off his lips. "And I've got this key."

"Yeah, I guess you do. Been a long time since I saw you blush like that."

Krem just laughed, and said, "Taarsidath-an halsaam."

Bull laughed with him as they climbed the winding stairwell of the tower, dotted every yard or so with an arrow slit, so the torchlight over the city's canals bounced off the water, and inside to them, making everything glow softly yellow. They reached the uppermost level, and opened the door to the room where Cassandra and Vivienne pored over candlelit maps of the countryside. The two women looked up, and Bull had to smile at the identical expressions on their faces, of interrupted annoyance. He spoke before either could and said, "Apparently Krem de la Krem here is irresistible to the ladies."

"I think we have managed so far." Cassandra replied tartly.

Krem blushed a bit and held up the key. "One of the...tavern maids gave me this."

Vivienne looked up with interest. Then she scowled. "Tavern maid indeed. Did she say where it leads?"

"Caves beneath this tower." Krem replied. "Think if we went knocking, anyone would answer?"

After a few moments of glaring, Vivienne crossed the room to retrieve her staff, while Cassandra resignedly strapped on her breastplate over her shirt. After a few minutes, and a stray thought from Cassandra, Cole appeared, with Rocky, Grim, and Dalish, and a heavy bag of their coin, which he set on the floor. 

Cassandra looked at Bull and tilted her head, so he was the one who made the battle plan, instead of her. "Alright everybody. Me and the Seeker will take the lead, followed by The Lady Vivienne,and Cole, and then, the rest of you will cover our flanks. We will go through the door first, then Krem will count to a hundred and you follow. Got it? We don't know what's down there so, everyone, horns up!"

The Chargers replied, "Horns up!"

\---

Cassandra brought a torch with her, and it was just as well, because nothing was lit inside the locked room, which was maybe wide enough for three small merchant's tables. Bull had to crouch to fit, and because his face was so close to the wall he spotted what he thought might be a chink in it. When Cassandra lit the wall sconce, it was completely obvious that the room had recently been plastered over. He drove his fist into the crack, and it crumbled beneath his hand. The Seeker passed the torch to Cole, and began to help him punch holes into the plaster. Soon they revealed a small tunnel, which curled off to the northeast into darkness.

The tunnel was damp, and had a distasteful, metallic smell, and Cole dutifully followed behind, lighting the sconces on the walls every twenty yards. He was whispering to himself, and then suddenly waved the torch out in front of him. "Skittering legs and spiteful hearts. The song carries them forward. Soon they will sing in blood."

A spider appeared from the shadows, lunging at Cole, who flung the torch off into the distance, and drew his daggers just as the beast reached him. It took two stabs at him, once each with its right and left front legs, then turned as it heard Cassandra and Bull draw their swords. They were soon inundated with what seemed like an army of cave spiders. Clacking and howling punctuated sword swings and gouts of ice from the Iron Lady's staff. She spun it over her head in a circle, even as Cole rolled forward, and slammed it to the ground to blast the closest enemy with Winter's Grasp even as Cole popped up into the air, springing into an uppercut with his right dagger out. It drove into the heart of the spider, and his brutal downswing with his left hand shattered it messily onto the walls of the tunnel.

Cole landed on his feet, adjusted the brim of his hat, and melted into stealth while Cassandra and Bull faced off three more of the large hairy abominations. Cassandra bellowed at them, drawing their ire. They rushed her, and The Iron Bull got behind them, and began to swing his sword in swaths, cutting across the back legs of the spindly beasts. Two fell, but continued to try to function on their front legs. The Seeker took the opportunity to smash one into paste with a hard bash of her shield. It exploded in a wave of green pus, dousing the eyes of its remaining comrades, and Bull drove the point of his great sword into first one, and then the other.

Vivienne sniffed and wiped goo from her velvet robes. "Perhaps, a bit more finesse, next time, my dear."

There was no time for more jokes, as five more arachnids closed on them. Vivienne sighed, and her spectral blade glowed white in her hand. She swung it expertly, right next to Cassandra, and deftly spun around the Seeker's quick strikes with her axe, complementing body hits with wide slashes meant to maim. It didn't take long for the four of them to fell all the creatures.

They caught their breath, for a moment, then Cole picked up the torch, and relit it, and the party continued down into the dark passage. They arrived at the mouth of a cave, which led to a rocky path that curved around, still to the northeast. They picked their way along it carefully, until they came to another cave in the side of a hill. Within, another door built into a wooden wall. Cole knelt down to pick the lock, and after a moment, it swung open.

They crept deeper into the caves, accompanied by Bull's irritated rumblings about the height of the ceilings. A low thrum filled the air, as song that traveled into their ears and deep into their bones. _By-yum-pum-pum._ Cassandra murmured, "Red Lyrium."

The cavern opened up to a large hollowed out space filled with crates, and boxes, and trunks. Many were clearly Dwarven-made, and on the other side of the room, a few dwarves roamed around. One sat at a table in the middle of what looked like a makeshift laboratory. He was small, and fat, and had huge red cheeks and beady little eyes. His hair was stringy from many days of filth, and he had dirt under his fingernails as he tinkered with a device in front of him. He pulled on some gloves, and unlocked one of the metal containers at his feet. 

Cole sidled up to Cassandra, as they tried to hide among the crates, and whispered. "The song is terrible. I don't like it."

She nodded, and whispered back. "Stay close to me."

The gloved dwarf pulled a shard of red lyrium from the box, about the length of his finger but half the girth, and slid it into the four-pronged contraption in front of him. The small machine glowed red for a moment, and a runed collar snapped into place around the shard. "That's the last one." He said, and stood up to place it in a crate, held by one of his companions. He and a few others filed out a door that looked to lead deeper into the hillside, shutting it behind them with a thunk.

"Do you think these will work?" An archer asked.

"Better than the last batch, anyway. This schematic is...complicated. Whoever designed this will be Paragon for sure. And it's made for the blue stuff, so I've had to adjust some of the runes." The scientist's voice seemed to echo in his mouth as he spoke, then sighed. "Best to get back to work."

The archer turned, and out of the corner of his eye spotted the tip of Iron Bull's horn, as he tried to shrink himself behind a crate.

"Intruders!" He shouted as he nocked an arrow and fired. It pinged off Bull's horn and clattered to the ground as the giant Qunari rose up and charged into the room, knocking over several other dwarves. He hit the last one so hard she flew across the space in an arc, and crashed into the rocky walls of the chamber, sliding down and hitting the ground with a thud. Cole dropped into stealth and snuck around the perimeter of the room, as Cassandra and Vivienne faced down the crew of Carta thugs.

Spectral and bloodstone blades flashed, and soon two more warriors were felled, while archers began to flank the party. Cole whirled through them, slashing and stabbing. More enemies joined the fray, and things went south. The hallway on the other side of the room flooded with more Carta members. Their eyes flashed red as they charged at Cassandra and Vivienne, who flung up a barrier as they four were backed up into a corner by the press of overwhelming numbers. 

The Iron Lady gulped down a Lyrium potion quickly, and resumed slashing at enemies with her silver glowing sword while simultaneously maintaining her white, shining barrier. She spun her staff into her left hand, and swung it over her head, then slammed it on the ground. Frost runes popped up beneath the dwarves that surrounded them in a semicircle, and Vivienne grunted as they went off. Her sword blinked out, and instead she complemented the Seeker's strikes with bone-breaking hits from her staff. Its blade slashed the throat of an enemy that got too near, and Cassandra smiled cruelly as she felled another.

"Maker, who knew they taught mages to _fight_ at Monsimmard?" the Seeker japed as she speared another dwarf with the tip of her axe. 

"Not much else to do, really. And the Templars there were eager to share their knowledge." Vivienne's staff shot out under Cassandra's shield and popped a dagger-wielding dwarf in the nose. He dropped like a stone, clutching his face and shrieking. There was an echo in his voice too, and it was suddenly apparent why these particular Carta thugs were so...hardy. There were still at least a dozen of them upright, and the two women panted with their efforts to stay alive. "Not the best time for questions, darling."

A ball of ice shot between their heads and struck the shield of the dwarf Cassandra was trying to find a way around. It bounced off and hit another enemy, hard enough to fling him into the opposite wall as well, to pile next to Bull's first hapless victim. Dalish shouted as she wielded her "bow", and Rocky, Grim, and Krem jumped into the fray as Cole popped out of stealth and joined them, creating a whirling six bladed dervish of death, slitting throats and hamstrings and dropping every leather-clad enemy in their wake. A blast of Winter's Grasp froze the final two assailants, and Cassandra and Bull shattered them, with shield and great axe alike. 

The scientist sat at his table, feet frozen to the floor by Dalish's magic, holding pieces of paper up to the candle. He'd managed to burn a few by the time they strode up to him. Cole's everite dagger at his throat discouraged him from burning any more, and Rocky pulled one of the unfinished-looking pronged devices out of the crate below. Cassandra said, simply, "Talk." "The Elder One will kill me." The small dwarf echoed. "Messily."

Cassandra peered at Cole, and the dagger crept closer to the smelly dwarf's neck. "What makes you think we won't kill you?" She asked. "It might even be cleaner than what Corypheus might do."

The dwarf sighed, and the echo in his voice reverberated off of the sides of the rock-hewn chamber. "I'm going to die anyway." He smiled mirthlessly. "I can feel the song in my bones."

"You're Dairmut." Said Cole. "Smith caste. House Paedus."

"I am," he choked out.

Bull took the device from Rocky and waved it under his pale, clammy face. The dwarf's wide nostrils heaved as Cole tightened his grip. "What is this?"

Dairmut said nothing. 

Rocky began to peer at the diagrams that remained intact. They all stared at each other for a few minutes while he read. Dairmut's breathing began to calm down, until Rocky announced, "It looks like some sort of Lyrium seeding device. See here, the runes shatter the lyrium and the impact pushes it into the earth." He looked at Dairmut. "It might be pretty dangerous to use red Lyrium if this was designed for blue. Even changing the runes is a risk. I assume you've tried a few combinations of different runes and sizes of shard?" He asked, looking at a page of notes, scribbled furiously and scratched out.

"Talk," Cassandra said again, threateningly. The scientist's eyes widened as she leaned over him.

"Yes," Dairmut wheezed. "The last batch were the best ones. Wouldn't create waves on the surface."

Vivienne spoke up. "You've been using these on the floor of the lake bed?"

"The first ones we tried on the hillside took out half the docks."

"And it is easier to keep a red Lyrium farm hidden if it is underwater." Madame de Fer concluded. She stared hard into Cole' s eyes and Cassandra watched in shock as his blade dragged across the scientist's neck. The dwarf fell forward, blood spraying from the slash on his throat. 

Cole said, "He was a bad man, but the suffering was worse. Even. Let the Ancestors sort me out."

"A mercy for his mother." Sniffed Vivienne.

"Did I help?" The boy asked as he cleaned his dagger.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry this update took so long, and is a bit short. Stupid real life has been getting in the way. Don't worry, I'm still working on this. Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'll try to post another in a day or two.


	19. Dwarves Don't Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we are back in The Approach. And shit goes down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hard: writing smutty fan fiction on a tablet
> 
> Harder: writing smutty fan fiction with children in the room.
> 
> Hardest: writing smutty fan fiction with a toddler around who thinks you are his personal jungle gym.
> 
> Updates will be slower whilst I wrestle my two year old. Sorry loves.

Irgaine yelped as she sat bolt upright in her bed. "Andraste's eyes, Solas! I hate it when you do that."

The elf's tiny smile indicated a bit of mirth at her discomfort. She wondered if he enjoyed needling her. He was sitting next to her on the ground, and had already tied open her tent flap. The first rays of the desert sun poked up over the fortress to the north, and Varric and Blackwall murmured to each other over the embers of the fire. The smell of tea wafted to her, and as much as she didn't relish the notion of another trail ration, she did enjoy the news she had to share.

So she stood, and pulled on her leathers over her blouse and breeches, and dragged her fingers through her hair to braid it. "Did you tell him?" 

"I thought it best to leave that to you."

"I hardly know what to say." Irgaine replied. "I'm sure he'll be excited." She grabbed her daggers, and examined the blades before sliding them into their sheaths. They went out to the fire, and Varric poured her a mug of tea.

Varric looked at Irgaine, and something in his eyes changed at her wary smile. "Something wrong, Siren?"

"Not wrong precisely." She looked at her Dwarven friend. She was nervous about his reaction, and he seemed to know it, placing a reassuring hand over hers. "Solas and I walked the Fade last night. We found Hawke."

She swore she felt her stomach drop as his eyes flicked up. "Like we found Justinia?" Varric asked her warily.

"No." She paused. "Alive. Solas thinks we can pull him out of the rift on the other side of the canyon."

"Get your shit." He said, to her and the other men around the fire. "Let's go."

\---

Irgaine regretted taking down Leo of Lucien Bay and his party, whom they found camped at the base of the wide sandy ramp that led up the side of the canyon to the rift, only because Cassandra was not with them. But she had never seen Varric so focused on efficiency. Every bolt he fired hit an eye or artery and she danced amongst them, amazed at how he seemed to know exactly where she would pop out of stealth to strike and at one point, firing a bolt into an enemy's heart underneath her right arm. She spun away to the left and dropped low, rolling behind another Mage to drag her daggers across the backs of his legs even as Varric plugged a bolt into his brain. Their victim toppled over as Irgaine rolled out of the way again, closer to Blackwall, who was exchanging heavy blows with a well armored Chevalier, and looking quite content. If it were any other day, the party might have let them settle their differences honorably.

As it was, Varric was in a hurry to get to the rift. _Hawke_.

The Inquisitor's left dagger drove into the man's spine as her right stabbed him in the stomach, and Bianca shot true again, driving a bolt through the the poor fool's temple. Blackwall glared at them. "I wasn't finished."

Irgaine said, sheepishly, "Sorry."

Varric did not speak, instead striding up the dunes to the spot where the path became flatter. He sat on a rock, and removed his boots to shake out the sand and the pebbles, leaving Solas, Irgaine, and Blackwall to loot the camp. Irgaine, feeling Varric's impatience, hurriedly searched the bodies, and Solas found a trunk with a dagger and instructions for building what looked like parts for the crossbow the dwarf had propped against the canyon wall. With a suffering, exaggerated sigh, Varric smashed a vial of stealth powder against his chest.

They rest of them had little choice but to abandon the camp and trek up the path after him. Irgaine stealthed as well, when she saw the small party of Venatori guarding a quarry in the canyon wall. Blackwall strode up to them with purpose, determined to get into a decent fight. He bellowed at the closest warrior at the top of his lungs, and the woman turned and charged him without flinching, slamming her tower shield into the ground as he met her. They two clashed, shields ringing off one another, and Blackwall attempted to slash around to her flank. 

Irgaine came up behind one of the mages, neatly slitting his throat, and Solas' aquamarine barrier sprung up around her, also outlining the dwarf, revealing his position. His scowl was highlighted in magelight as he shot two bolts, one into the heart of a nearby Mage and another into the back of the head of the warrior Blackwall engaged. Two more enemies emerged from the quarry, and Varric quickly dispatched them before the others could even react.

Irgaine peered over at the rift, a scant ninety yards from them. If they got any closer, they would have to begin combat . Her mark flickered, as Varric began to walk towards it, and she said, "Hold a moment, please."

Varric glowered at Irgaine but stopped walking. She said, "Give us some time to regroup. Is anyone hurt?"

"Only my pride, my lady Inquisitor." Blackwall glared at Varric, who rolled his eyes.

"Varric. Relax. We'll get him out." Irgaine said. 

The two of them glared at each other for a moment, before Varric sighed. "Fine."

"Fifteen minutes. Rest. Water. Potions."

\---

The first wave of demons they felled from the rift went down easily, between gouts of lightning from Solas and the combination of Irgaine's shining Drakestone blades and Varric's deadly accuracy. Blackwall battered the Pride demon that towered over them all, shouting creative insults in Orlesian. He was most likely grateful to finally be in a decent match, with the two rogues distracted as they were by the wisps and rage demons. He focused all his energies on the beast's thick legs, and finally managed to roll behind it to smash at the back of its knee, and knock it down. From across the field Varric saw its head bob, and fired a bolt at it. The great lightning beast roared up, and the bolt tagged it in the shoulder. The two men caught eyes, and the Warden glared. Varric shrugged and went back to supporting Irgaine's strikes against the other demons.

The Herald disrupted the rift, briefly, forcing it open wider, and they could hear muffled shouts from the other side. "Inquisitor!"

A flash of sickly green light enveloped the battlefield, and Irgaine focused all her energy at widening the rift. Three more Rage demons and a smattering of spiders skittered out, followed by a tall figure, with a long sandy beard and a snarl on his face. Hawke spun his staff in front of him and swung it blade first in an arc. The ground beneath the enemies' many legs erupted, spraying rocks and sand into the air and their eyes, temporarily blinding them, even as a wave of crimson energy erupted from the mage, tearing into their bodies and dissolving the creatures.

Irgaine pulled her wrist back, and snapped the rift closed. Varric howled with joy as he plugged bolts into the remaining spiders while Hawke blasted them with lightning and rocks. At a few points Irgaine had to fling herself out of the way of a stray bolt or boulder. Solas kept a barrier around them while she joined Blackwall in dispatching their last foe, and when they turned around, Hawke had picked Varric up off the ground, crushing him in a hug. 

The dwarf's feet dangled helplessly, as he laughed and struggled against his friend. "Maker's balls! Put me down! It's un-fucking-dignified!"

Hawke was laughing too, and shook Varric from side to side like a doll before setting him down. Varric punched him in the gut, and Hawke doubled over before holding up a hand. A swirl of sand grabbed Varric's ankle and pulled him on to his ass. Soon all five of them were roaring. When they calmed down, Hawke said, "Got anything to eat? I'm starving." \---

With all the rifts in the Approach closed, and Hawke rescued, Irgaine decided to head back to Griffon Wing Keep. With Hawke eating rations the way he was, they would starve halfway to the baths outside Emprise if they didn't. It was Varric's mention of Starkhaven Fish Pie that sealed it. Hawke's face lit up like a child's and she relented. Far be it from her to prevent the Champion of Kirkwall a decent meal. 

They were greeted enthusiastically, all the more so because Hawke lived. A great banquet was put together, complete with the pie, roasted goat, and an odd bitter salad of salt, vinegar, and finely sliced onion and cactus. They toasted to Hawke, killed five barrels of Pale, and played cards until almost dawn. The soldiers there were gracious and friendly, and Irgaine reflected that it was well she got to know a few faces, and that they got to speak to her and see her as a person. She'd have to tell Bull that his advice was spot on.

But the Inquisitor was exhausted. And there was an actual bed waiting for her in the chamber assigned to her at the top of the keep's rear tower, complete with pillows and a bottle of Uager she'd had Josephine send. She said her good nights, and grumbled up the stairs, where she poured herself a hefty tumbler of the delicious cinnamon liqueur. Irgaine settled in with a copy of _Busty Belinda and the Bravado Brothers,_ which she'd nicked from Dorian's room. It wasn't long after she'd gulped down her drink that she fell asleep (before she even got to page ten).

\---

The best thing about the Fade was that it meant she was fully asleep. It was strange that she was more rested after her sojourns here. Maybe it was a deeper kind of sleep. She'd have to ask Solas.

"It is deeper, more restful, Inquisitor." He said from behind her. She didn't jump, this time, and she was getting used to him appearing here if she thought of him. He gestured with one hand for her to accompany him, and they began to walk across the shifting scarred landscape, sometimes half a league in a step. They found themselves in the shadow of Adamant, and slowed themselves down to pace the perimeter of the fortress.

"What are we looking for, Solas?" She asked. The building in the Fade seemed to flicker between a majestic structure, polished in its prime, and the smoking ruin they'd made of it months previously. 

"Hawke mentioned he found echoes of books here. A few that he tried to bring through the rift disappeared, but the ones he said he found around Adamant didn't." The apostate replied. "I thought we might search for more."

"Sure. I think I saw a library in the guest wing. We could start there." As they walked, shadows of their war camp, from the siege against the Wardens, began to appear around them, and their banners flickered in and out on the towering walls above them.

"What's that's? It seems stronger than the others." Solas pointed to a green tent a few yards away with an Inquisition logo stamped on it. A shadow of a man in a scout's uniform paced around it, looking extemely uncomfortable. As they approached, the tent melted away, and Varric held a blade to Irgaine's throat. They were both unable to move, even as they tried to drag their feet from the spot and leave the echo to play itself out, horrified as they watched him mark her, take her, and when she raked her nails down his back her mark flared, and seemed to melt up into the bloody rivulets she left as she cried out from beneath him. Irgaine could not look away, unable to speak, or move. Her shadow's Mark hissed and thrummed in time with the coupling, and green light settled around the pair in fine lace, trailing up into smoke above their joined bodies. Solas turned, finally, and said, "An echo in the fade."

Irgaine did not reply. She was shaking her head, and murmuring to herself. Solas reached out a hand to her, but she pulled away, scratching at the scar on her neck. They walked together in silence for a few moments, towards the door in the side of the keep that was not shifting. Irgaine reached for the handle, but Solas put a hand on her arm. She looked over at him, and he saw mortification in her eyes.

"I'm sorry you had to see that." She said quietly.

"Do you think I judge you differently?" He asked.

"You might. I don't really know." Irgaine shook her head again. She looked at her Mark, which beat a slow, steady rhythm. 

"I have seen other, much older echoes of that." It was the way Andruil had chained her personal guard to her. They pledged themselves, body, mind, and spirit, and this was how she came to be called "Blood and Force." They gained knowledge of her emotions, and she and they became nearly impossible to kill. The other benefits and drawbacks varied with each binding. One swordsman fell hopelessly in love with her, another didn't survive the joining. He idly wondered if the Joining ceremony of the Grey Wardens was related to this. As he lacked any other explanation, he simply said, "I think you have made him your Warden."

"My what? That's not possible."

"Shall I recite the list of impossible things you have done? Or continue my explanation?"

"Oh, the list, please. It will make me feel better."

Solas rolled his eyes and searched for a place to sit. While they walked he explained the bond she'd created, possible side effects, and what to expect. "As time goes on, the more you two work and live and travel together, the stronger it should become. Eventually you should be able to bring him into the Fade, too. I wonder if he has been dreaming?"

"He hasn't said anything to me." Irgaine said. "Is that possible for him?"

"There is no precedent, to my knowledge, of a child of the stone being bound in this way." Solas went on, "However, in combat you two seem to already be quite in sync with each other. And I have to assume his accuracy today had something to do with your proximity to his targets. Do not tell him I said so, but he is not _that_ excellent of a shot."

The Inquisitor snorted a laugh. "I won't tell him. I'm not sure I want to tell him about any of this."

"Consider telling him of the binding. If our places were reversed I would want to know."

"I'll think about it. Just seems unfair, after he just got it together with Cassandra, to drop this in his lap." She sighed, and scrubbed her hands across her eyes. "Hah, if your places were reversed. I have problems enough, thank you very much."

Solas chuckled. "It seems that way." He paused, and tilted his head. His eyes twinkled as he asked, "Do I seem the troublesome type to you, Inquisitor?"

Irgaine could not help the wry smile on her face as she said, "Yes, yes you do."

\---

_Now Varric is walking on a wooded path, following Hawke somewhere. Off behind him, he hears Rivaini talking, and then Choir Boy's indignant reply. He chuckles and looks down at Bianca, and she's missing a few scratches, which is nice, and maybe her mechanisms are shinier? Doesn't matter, though. Hawke stops walking and turns around, and he is suddenly Bartrand, before the Lyrium idol, and they walk through the alleys of Lowtown. The scene shifts again, and he is following Irgaine and Cassandra through the swamps of the Fallow Mire. A beacon is lit and they all fight the horde of undead together. Bolts fly, and the three of them flash and fight around each other while Solas flings barriers._

_It's over, and he is searching the burlap sacks that lay around the beacon. He pulls out Bartrand's red Lyrium Idol from one of the bags. Red crystals shoot up around him._

Varric sat up in bed, groaning. He reached over to the table and grabbed the glass of water he'd left there to gulp it down. He shook his head to clear it, and then rested his forehead in his palms. He was sure that he had been dreaming. But it wasn't possible! 

_Dwarves don't dream._ His only connection to the fade, he surmised, was the time he physically went into it. So how? He hadn't brought anything back with him, and he certainly hadn't eaten anything while he was in there. Was it more intense because they'd rescued Hawke?

He hated the idea of going to Solas with this. He had to admit that it was really his only choice.

But not tonight. Right now, he could hear the clinking of mugs and laughter from the dining hall, and he figured, if he went down there and got drunk enough, he might not dream again. Or he might dream of the Seeker. That might actually be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading. Updates as I can.


	20. A Disastrous Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the poo hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I'm still working on this, and updates will come faster after I slog through the party split. We're almost there, lovers, and soon there will be smut. Bear with me as i struggle with a daunting work schedule and my toddler.
> 
> I hope this chapter doesn't seem like things happen too quickly. Let me know in the comments if it feels rushed. I'm going to move ahead for now, but I might be inclined to flesh this out more later.
> 
> (Nerdy britches: find me the obscure reference in this chapter. I'll offer a prompt fill in my own time again.)

"Did I help?" The boy said as he cleaned his daggers.

Before Cassandra could loose her indignation, three loud booms sounded, off in the distance from the south. The cavern shook, and rocks began to fall around the group of them. Bull shouted, "Grab what you can!" and Rocky and Krem gathered up all of the leftover papers while he, Grim, and Stitches each grabbed a chest from under the dead dwarf's desk. The party raced out of the cavern the way they came, with Cole in the lead.

Vivienne's iridescent barrier shrouded the party as they ran back through the tunnels past the corpses of the spiders they'd killed. The walls began to collapse behind them, and they all ran together at breakneck speed, feet slapping against the rock. Dust and pebbles bounced off the Iron Lady's shield as they ran, creating shining spots of light around them, as though they ran through a shower of sparks. It spurred them onward, and Cole flew through the door in the hill and scurried up the side as the rest of the party scrambled out of the tunnel. The earth around them gave a great groan, and the hill shifted as the tunnel finally collapsed. They paused for a moment and turned, in time to see the east tower of the keep collapse in a heap of smoke, fire, and rubble.

When it fell, it revealed the entire valley in which Ostwick lay. The bazaar was ablaze, and people screamed and ran and the canals were filled with boats. They were desperately trying to escape the city, and the party could see the flash of dagger blades everywhere in the firelight. A dull roar enveloped the city as it dissolved into chaos. Cole grimaced at Cassandra and disappeared.

"Did you get everything?" Vivienne asked Bull.

"Everything we could ma'am." He looked down at the city. "We need to get down there."

"I'm not sure there is anything we could do," Cassandra began. She opened her mouth to continue speaking but was silenced by shock as she watched three great red spires of lyrium rise up from the east tower, the residential district, and the bazaar. Its song throbbed through their bodies, and Vivienne turned and vomited quietly in the grass. 

Krem said, "I think we need to get out of this city. Chief? Seeker?"

"I have to agree with Krem, Cass. If we stay here for long, we will all be infected. If we can get back into the keep, we might be able to get a boat, and go out the front, take the river south back to Kirkwall." Bull rumbled. He gathered all the sheets of parchment, and rolled them up, to stuff them into one of the crates. "We can climb around the back. Look there." He pointed with his great grey hand off to their right, where a not-so-beaten path crept around the hillside. 

Vivienne collected herself, wiped her mouth, and drank a regeneration potion. She looked over at the Seeker, and their eyes met. Cassandra nodded. "I agree," she said, her Nevarran accent thickening with anger. "But Irgaine will not forgive us for abandoning her family." 

"There will be nothing to forgive if we die." Vivienne sniffed, and began to pick her way up the path, surprisingly quickly given the height of her boot heels. The rest of them followed, as fast as they could, hearts filled with dread.

\---

Claira ran behind Mira, through the great wooden door that led from the Bluest Eye into the castle. Her mother dropped the bar across the door, and turned and grabbed Claira's hand, dragging her further into the twisting hallways, as the mob of irate townspeople began to beat it down. They had barely escaped the brothel, and Mira chivvied her daughter in front of her as best she could while more explosions shook the ground. They made it to the stairwell, and pulled the door open as the mob broke through. Claira shot the bolt home, and they sprinted up to the inside docks as quickly as they could.

The little girl ran, sobbing quietly, tears streaming down her face. The screaming angry masses had smashed through the brothel, killing and destroying everyone and everything in their path, and they'd set fires and stolen things. She and her mother had barely gotten away, and Claira was as frightened as she'd ever been. They reached one of the boats, and Mira shoved her into it, and began to untie the ropes that held it fast to the dock. Another figure barreled into her, knocking her off her feet.

"You're not going anywhere with my daughter," Agravaine snarled. His hand closed around Mira's throat, and he squeezed, hauling her to her feet, then lifting her off of the ground. His voice had an echo in it, and his already beady eyes were bloodshot and red. "You're mine, Mira."

She could feel the world darkening around her as he choked her, and she desperately reached into his doublet for the knife he usually kept stashed there. Thank the Maker, it was there, and she pulled it out and plunged it into his shoulder. He howled, and dropped her to the planks of the dock. "For the last time, Agra," Mira said as she brushed a lock of thick blonde hair from her eyes and brandished the knife in front of her, "She's not your daughter. And I don't belong to you."

The man bared his teeth, and backhanded her. Another explosion, closer this time, shook the castle walls while Agravaine closed on Mira, backing her away from the boat that held her child. He pulled another dagger off his belt and slashed at her, and she stood up and parried clumsily, then slashed at his ribs. He hissed as it caught him, at the sudden pain and spun behind her. He was about to drive his knife into her heart, when Cole appeared, raising both daggers in an arc to block the blow. Agravaine pushed down, hard, but Cole was quick, and deftly drove his foot into the other man's groin. He crumpled, clutching himself and whimpering.

While Agra fell to the floor, Mira tumbled to the boat, and untied the final rope that held it to the dock. She jumped in, and gestured for Cole to follow. When they were all inside, Mira dropped the ropes and grabbed the pole and pushed the boat off into the darkness as the mob began to pour into the canal, screaming and howling and swimming towards them with torches held aloft over the water. Claira screamed as well, and Mira steered the boat along as fast as she could. Her slender arms were no match for the speed of the infuriated townspeople, and as they closed on the boat, Claira watched in horror. Her wails became louder, and as one of the men in the water began to climb aboard their craft, the little girl's face changed.

Her eyes shone white, and her screams echoed off the walls of the cavern. The child threw her hands up in the air, and let out a great guttural groan, and a wave of blue-white energy radiated off of her, in an arc towards the mob. Mira pushed one more time on the pole as the waters of the causeway froze behind them in a spray of ice shards and nauseating energy. The water froze so quickly that men and women alike brandishing daggers and torches were held in place, their faces screaming but their voices silenced.

Mira dropped the pole. Cole barely caught it before it fell into the water, as Mira twined her arms around her daughter's neck. "Baby, what did you do?!"

Cole pushed the boat further along the water, and said, "She did magic."

The lights from the fires in the city glowed through the giant red crystal that rose up from the remnants of the tower the Inquisition had lately occupied, and cast everything in eerie scarlet light. They party clambered around behind the ruin, and they could see into the canal that went under the keep. Vivienne peered into the darkness, and she could see the boat Cole was steering, and his floppy hat pushed back off his eyes, for once, as he did.

The water was frozen between the rest of the group and their boat, but the boy seemed to sense them, and turned and pointed to the other dock, where two more wide dinghys waited. They were so focused on getting down there, that Krem tripped over a prone form, with long, red-brown hair. "Oof." He landed hard on his stomach, and his foot dragged the man over onto his back.

Cassandra knelt next to them, and brushed the man's hair out of his eyes. "Lord Trevelyan. Gareth." His head lolled back, and he was badly beaten, his nose broken again and his upper lip split. She pulled a potion off her belt, and poured it into his mouth, massaging his throat to force it down. "Lady Vivienne, can you do anything for him?"

The Enchanter nodded, and placed her hands on him, pushing her chilly healing magic into him. His nose righted, as much as it could, his lip closed, and he mustered a groan. Without a word, Bull handed the trunk he carried to Cassandra, and easily lifted Trevelyan. He asked, "Your father? Your brother?"

Gareth barely shook his head and passed out.

Vivienne was studying the frozen mob in the water as they ran to the dock. The effect was complete, and it would be quite awhile before they all thawed out. The Iron Lady frowned. "Cassandra, can you sense that woman in the boat with Cole?"

"Not the woman. The girl." The Seeker replied, as she hustled everyone into the boats, settling in with Gareth while Bull grabbed the pole and pushed them off. Stitches hovered over the man, with salves and some sort of poultice. In the boat in front of them, Vivienne, Krem, and Grim sat while Dalish steered. 

They reached the north gates of Bescheiden Keep, and Cole pulled his craft off to the walkway along the side. Mira worked the mechanism to open them, and they swung wide, revealing the slowly moving waters of the river and the moon hanging bright and low over it. It was an oddly peaceful picture, at odds with the chaos they were leaving behind. She hopped back into the boat, and held Claira, who was no longer crying, but oddly silent, staring off into the distance. Her daughter sat stiff and unmoving in her arms.

\---

They traveled the river the rest of the night, and into the morning. There was no discussion of camp, just Cole pulling the first boat over to a sandy spot on the side. From hearing the others, he knew they were far enough from Ostwick to be clear of the effects of the red Lyrium, and of course that they were all exhausted, grieving, spent. He helped everyone secure their boats up on the bank, and even managed to find two blankets, stashed under a seat. While Bull and Vivienne made a fire, Cassandra stood in the river with her boots off, stabbing at the fish swimming by.

Cole found a few saplings, and used his daggers to cut them down, then went back to the fire and used them to set up a sort of makeshift tent among the trees with one of the blankets. They were far enough north that he thought they would all be warm enough at night, and it was nice to have some shade. Cole got Claira settled in between Mira and Gareth, and the three of them soon fell asleep, and Grim sat down in front of them with his sword out on the ground. Bull stared at him, eyes to eye, and some kind of understanding passed between them. Grim would stand guard over them, for the time being.

Cassandra managed to kill six good-sized trout, and came up on the bank to clean them. Everyone was sitting down, even Vivienne had a blank expression on her face, and she ignored the sand and grit getting on her clothing, which might have been a first. They ate a little, and saved a fish for the sleeping survivors. While the other Chargers cleaned up after the meal, Rocky went to the chests, and pulled out the parchments with the diagrams on them. He studied them silently.

They rested for an hour or so, until Bull stood up and went to sit next to the dwarf. "See anything?"

"I'm trying to figure out how they made such huge deposits come out of the ground like that." He replied. "I suppose they could have used many of these devices in one place, but then I'd think the formations themselves would have looked different. So were there three huge devices?"

"I'm more concerned about how we will get across the Waking Sea. We have no money." Cassandra said. "And we need to find a way to get a message to Skyhold."

"If there are more of these things, they would be a great deal of trouble for us." Rocky said. "It looks like these blueprints are original. And Cole killed the only person who got them to work. Except maybe Dagna."

"With haste, then, to Kirkwall?" Vivienne suggested. "We all have mutual acquaintances there. Perhaps we could leverage our, ah, _association_ " a pointed look at Cassandra "with Varric?"

The Seeker rolled her eyes. "Or the Inquisition. Yes, Kirkwall."

It was agreed that they would travel at first light, taking the boats back out to the river, and then down to the port city. It took about two weeks, and during that time Gareth became stronger, and was able to assist with boating and hunting and other chores. Mira and Claira helped too, when Claira was not learning to control her new magic from Vivienne. The child was a quick study, and the Iron Lady found herself wishing she had another staff, to teach the girl to fight.

Cassandra was surprised that Vivienne made not one mention of taking the child to a Circle. Their final morning on the river, with Kirkwall rising up over them, the Seeker sat in their boat next to her, and, under cover of the din of the city, asked her why.

"I surmise the Inquisitor would object. And it is not often one has the privilege of teaching a Mage with one's own affinities. She's quite an intelligent child, too. Respectful. So I will, at least until we return to Skyhold." Vivienne gave a small smile. "I don't often like children, you know."

"Nor I, actually," Cassandra agreed. "She is quite precocious. I think she maybe spent a little too much time around the brothel, though. She speaks like someone twice her age."

"There were a few years, at Montsimmard, when there were only three or four children. Those grew up rather quickly. I assume Claira all the more so given her mother's profession." The Iron Lady looked to her right and pointed. "There. Is that what I think it is?"

They were sailing through Lowtown, along the back, the pier side of a row of taverns. Each was painted garishly with murals representing or implying their names. One had a carriage pulled by nine people instead of horses through an ugly green and brown field. Another, poppies and Elfroot in a complicated pattern, that if you looked at it from various angles, created a raised image of a naked man or woman (even Mira was scandalized, and covered Claira's eyes). The one Vivienne pointed at was an upside down man, hanging from a tree by his foot.

Bull was steering the lead boat, and pulled over to the dock. They tied up the boats, and left Grim, Stitches, and Rocky to guard them as the rest of them clambered out. The giant Qunari looked at Cassandra and said, "You should probably go in."

"Me? No. That last time they saw me I was dragging Varric away in chains." The Seeker frowned. "I didn't make the best impression."

Cole tilted his head, sniffed once, and said to her, "Come in with me. It would help."

Gareth and Mira had their heads together, whispering. He put his arm around Claira's shoulders and nodded, looking slightly chastised. Mira announced, "I'll be at the Nine Horse Hitch. Gareth will stay with Claira." Krem went to stand next to her. She looked at the Iron Bull, who smiled, then nodded once at Krem, and led him between the buildings. They turned right, disappearing out of sight.

Cole took the Seeker's hand, and led her inside, between the deliveries of beer barrels and cases of Uager.

\---

"Oi! You! You shouldn't be back here!" A tall, grey-haired woman shouted at them. Cole waved his hand and she went glassy-eyed, and they pair of them hustled through the loading dock of the tavern with no more hassle. They wove through the the rear hallways of the inn, passing six brightly painted doors, three on each side. She paused at the one that read _V. Tethras_ but Cole said, "He'll show you, himself, one day."

She frowned at him and looked down at their joined hands. He didn't let go, even as he led her past the kitchen, where they had to pause and wait for the moment when both in and out doors swung shut. It reminded her of when she was a small child, trying to jump with two ropes held by her older cousins. They eventually found their opportunity, and rounded the corner of the bar and went to the rail. 

The bartender was a slight woman, and they could see the tips of her ears sticking out from her swathe of tiny brown braids. They hung to her shoulders and were tipped with multicolored beads in pink and green and white. She wore the winged _vallaslin_ of Mythal, tattooed in deep grey ink that matched her eyes. The shining orbs narrowed a little as she said, respectfully, "Seeker Pentaghast. Shouldn't you be anywhere else?"

"I would like that, Merrill. I see you are quite well."

Cole waved a hand again, and the small elf's attention turned to him. He said, "Peace, little wren."

She stared at him, trying to look under the brim of his hat, and he removed it to look into her eyes. Her head tilted curiously just like the bird he named her for, and she said, "Compassion?" "It's just Cole now. We need your help."

\---

A few hours later, while everyone else slept in the attic of the Hanged Man, Cassandra sat in the highest room , under a dormer, with a quill and parchment, a candlelit board, and a cup of Uager.

_Mija,_

_We have lately arrived in Kirkwall, after a disastrous dinner party in Ostwick. The servants were so incompetent they burned down the house! The linens and napkins were the tackiest shade of red I have ever seen, and they were so garish we left immediately. The food was excellent however, and we will return soon with a few recipes. We dare to hope the excellent service your people provide will see us safely home, as we have exhausted our regular avenues. Would you be so kind as to inform them we are en route?_

_Tia Derecha_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trying to keep up with the little lion. Toddler vs. my carefree spirit. Updates as I can.
> 
> Also, let's assume I never played DA2. And let's assume Merrill went to the black emporium to change her appearance. I will take some liberties with Kirkwall because I can. Questions, comments, complaints, concerns?
> 
> You know where to file them.


	21. Parchment, in various sizes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we return to Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey check it out, two updates in a week! Here we have some more plot happening, and some angst mixed with some cheeky moments.

Leliana grimaced as she read Cassandra's letter. Her scouts in the Marches were reporting full-scale riots in Ostwick, the death and violent dismemberment of the Bann, and she'd assumed the worst regarding her friends. The Seeker's letter implied that their whole party had survived, but she worried none the less. This was one of those times she regretted her decision to abandon field work. Would her presence have made their mission more successful? Of course there was no way to know, and the Maker showed his hand in other ways.

A report from Irgaine in the west arrived as well, and she tied a note to another raven's foot that included a draw from the Merchant's Guild coffers in Kirkwall to pay for their passage across the Waking Sea. She dared to hope that Irgaine's party had fared better. She untied the ribbon from the bird's foot and quickly unrolled the slip of parchment.

_Nightingale,_

_Prisoners dropped off. Nine survived the trials, don't know about the Joining ritual. Erimond probably hung. Don't play strip Diamondback with Grey Wardens._

_Solas and I found Hawke alive, in the Fade. Varric is beside himself and neither of them will shut up. I think Blackwall's head is going to spin around and explode. We should be back in Skyhold in about a week, Hawke in tow. Let the Seeker know, if she's there, that we found and killed one of her rogue mages, Leo of Lucien Bay._

_Mind tuning my fiddle for me?_

_Irgaine_

Leliana held the missives, side by side, and grinned. Trust Cassandra to revert to the old ways, and trust the Herald not to mince words. She pulled up her hood and headed down to the War Room for the daily meeting.

\---

Cullen was going to be late, and he didn't care. This was his only opportunity to get back at Sera for putting that Maker-cursed beehive in his training dummy. With both the smartass elf and Cole off and away, he'd removed his loud armor and snuck quietly into the top floor of the tavern, descending the stairs and rounding the balcony towards her chambers. To his shock, the door was unlocked, and he cautiously stepped inside. When he pulled the door shut behind him, he was fortunate enough to look down and see a thin clear wire near his ankles. He followed it with his eyes. It led along the wall, and over to a shelf where a jar of pickles sat open, on a platform with springs. There were a few more around the room, but he could reach what he wanted from where he stood. He chuckled as he poured the vial from his pocket into the brand-new, expensive looking bottle of Orlesian shampoo. Then he backed out carefully, and went out of the tavern the way he came.

If he'd known it would be that easy, he would have done it a long time ago. 

Putting his plates on would make him even later, so he strode quickly through his office and out the door to the battlements again. He paused when he entered the rotunda. It was amazing to him, how Solas could paint so beautifully in free form. The murals captured the emotions of the events quite well, even if they were a little pretentious. He snorted quietly to himself. _A little?_

He pushed open the great warded doors of the War Room, and they swung shut of their own accord behind him, part of the enchantment Dorian had skillfully enhanced on the huge chamber. The other two members of the council leaned closely over the huge table, peering at a detailed map of the Free Marches. Josephine was tilting a small illustration of Kirkwall slightly at an angle, trying to orient the papers together in such a way that she could easily place markers in relevant places. Leliana spoke to Cullen without looking up. "A bit tardy, Commander? Did you finally leave Sera your stinging retort?"

Cullen rolled his eyes as the Ambassador looked up, and snorted a dry little laugh. He replied, "And if I did?"

"Another day I might chuckle and congratulate you. Just as well you completed your task before you arrived today." Sister Nightingale moved her marker from Crestwood to the docks of Kirkwall. "News from Ostwick is... Not good."

Cullen read the reports, from Leliana's scouts and the Iron Bull, and perused Cassandra's letter. Then he quickly reread Irgaine's missive as well. He'd lain hands on the first copy of it, courtesy of Jim's quick and considerate thinking. Just because things had not progressed very far between them, it did not mean he could not hope for more. It might have stung a little, when she took an all-male party out with her to the field, but he had been in the room during the assignment process, and it was all so logical at the time. He cursed his jealous heart when the letter mentioned Hawke -- what was he, compared to the handsome and brave Champion of Kirkwall? His insecurity said, that by the time they got back, Irgaine would be so enamored of the man, and he of her, that his own previously good chances would suddenly go bust.

And then, of course guilt at his own selfish feelings in the wake of all the injury and death in the destruction of Ostwick. He was unsure what her reaction would be, but he would be there for her regardless of what it was. Also regardless of whether or not she still returned his feelings. Before anything else, though, he picked up one of his markers and it joined Leliana's. "Have my troops join your scouts there. Let's offer as much aid as we can."

Josephine nodded. "I've already sent letters to Bann Samara of Hercinia and the Vicomte of Kirkwall. Hopefully they will send aid as well. Though I cannot imagine they wouldn't. Ostwick has been a good friend to them, over the years."

"That was largely Bann Trevelyan's doing." Cullen said. "He sent help after the Chantry in Kirkwall was destroyed, and aided Hercinia the year they could not feed all the refugees of the Blight. His death will most likely change matters in the near future. Cassandra's letter does not mention any survivors. Would that mean Irgaine is responsible for Ostwick now?"

"She has many, many relatives, and at least one or two of them must have survived. We won't know for certain yet for some time." Leliana sighed. "Irgaine and I have a...mutual acquaintance currently in Wycome. I'll send word to him to start looking, if he's not busy. The phrase 'dinner party' in the letter implies more mouths to feed, so I am hopeful." A few minutes later, she'd scratched a note on a slip of parchment and strode to the door, passing it to Jim with a few whispered instructions. When it shut behind her she continued speaking. "If the survivors do not include at least one of the Trevelyans I would be surprised. In my experience, what Cassandra lacks in skill, which is little, she makes up in luck."

Two short bursts sounded from the bells that kept time for the keep, announcing the arrival of one of the field parties, and they all tromped out of the War room, out to the battlements through the rotunda. They all stood on the walkway, and observed four mounted horses, and two ponies, led by Sera in her bright plaideweave cloak. One of the dwarves looked up from her small shaggy Forder, probably Harding? Then leaned up to Sera and said something, and the blonde elf's head fell back in raucous laughter. Even at this distance they could see Dorian dramatically roll his eyes. Cullen and Josephine shared a chuckle as they went back in to continue their meeting.

When they got back to the table, Cullen asked, "Is there more we can do for Ostwick?"

Both women shook their heads, and they all looked silently at the maps for a few moments. There was more to do, more to discuss, so when the moment was over, they calmly got back to work.

\---

News from the Marches turned out to be much, much worse than they thought. Refugees flooded the hills surrounding the city, running away from the disaster in all directions. Ostwick itself was uninhabitable, and still burned, the Bazaar, the public stables, and Bescheiden Keep thoroughly destroyed. The fire raged through the city from west to east, taking every wooden structure with it. The glow could be seen in the night from as far away as Markham, and was intensified and made more horrible by the reflections of the three great spires of red Lyrium that each towered into the sky over the flames. A few days after the explosions, no more boats came out of the canals, and it had to be assumed there were no more survivors. There were some who wished to join the Inquisition, and many more just looking for a safe place to go, and a missive from Kirkwall a week later came with a request from the Vicomte for a secure and stable place to begin sailing ships of people over the Waking Sea to them.

Cullen paced the ramparts between his office and the abandoned bedroom across the walls from his, staring out at the now heavily beaten trail leading up the mountains to the keep. Frequent use had widened it, and taken the grass down to packed dirt. A squadron of soldiers were installing wide log rails around it, and worked their way down the mountain, carefully into the valley that held the blossoming town of New Haven. 

A few hundred tents nestled around the west side of the lake that pooled under the bridge that led from the path to the gates of the keep, and in the east side, a few wooden structures were beginning to form. Another group of laypeople were cutting down trees north of the encampment, and a few were ferrying lumber back and forth on horse-drawn wagons. He contemplated asking Josephine to write to Orzammar, and maybe bring in some Builders. It certainly could not hurt. 

A wide stream trickled down the mountain out of the lake, and there were clustered about it a group of women doing laundry. Even with a thousand people living in it, the valley that held Skyhold spread vast around them, and as he watched them men clear out trees, he wondered how much space they would be able to use for farmland and pastures. They would have to begin growing their own food, raising their own meat, soon enough. Goats and chickens would be the most viable, and they would have to bring in some stone fruit trees that were hardy at altitude, though Maker help them with Sera if there happened to be peaches. Terracing the mountain would provide more space for edible crops. 

He could see the whole thing, finished, in his mind's eye, and stepped away from the stone rail. He walked to his office and pulled out a large, fresh piece of parchment, then opened one if the drawers of his desk. He used a small piece of charcoal to begin sketching. Soldiers and messengers came in and out, and he responded to them as quickly as he could. Over the next few hours the image developed, so he switched to an even smaller charcoal, adding details and making notations on a separate slip of paper. 

It began to get dark, so he lit a candle, and pushed his drawing over to his left. He got out more parchment, and drew instructions for the cutting of the terraces, then images of irrigation ditches, coming out of the river and trickling amongst them. He drew rows of barley in front of waves of wheat, with clustered grapes on a higher terrace above them. He imagined, behind the castle, expanded training yards for the soldiers, and a small school house for the children, and he sketched those, too. 

Would there be a medical facility? Or a library? His mind wandered, and he found himself relaxing for the first time in ages, as he drew image after image of the small town that sprung up in his mind. It calmed him to draw, and he'd been told that he had a talent for it. He rarely indulged it, but often found himself feeling strangely serene after he did. He wore the charcoal down to a little nub, and when the door to his office swung open for the umpteenth time, he bitterly growled, "Report."

Jim stood there, unfazed. At this point he'd pretty much seen all the advisors in every state, and interrupting the Commander at his desk was still by far better than interrupting him with the Lady Inquisitor. The messenger said, "Her Worship's party is coming up the mountain right now. She'll be in the keep in less than an hour. Sister Nightingale wants you to meet her, and the Lady Montilyet, at the gates at your earliest convenience."

The Commander blinked once, then seemed to shake himself and replied, "Yes. I'll be right there. Thank you."

Jim disappeared into the night, and Cullen stood and stretched, then rolled up the papers and put them on the top shelf over his military strategy books. He extinguished the candle and went out the door.

\---

They were just beginning to turn the mechanism that would raise the gates of Skyhold when Cullen arrived. It was probably a good thing he'd been drawing, he reflected, because the mood in the lower courtyard was somber and ordinarily would have made him even more nervous for the coming conversation. The click of hooves became louder, and when he first spied Irgaine again, her head was tilted down, her pale red hair shot with gold, dangling down her back and hiding her face. She was speaking quietly to Varric and Hawke, and both were listening intently. Hawke laughed, then, and Irgaine looked up and scanned the area until her eyes came to rest on Cullen.

She smiled at him, a full, bright smile that warmed him to his toes. Her nose was dusted with freckles again, and her green eyes twinkled for a moment, before she looked around again and saw the hanging faces of the keep's residents, and even from a distance the hooded faces of the merchants in the tiny bazaar. She slowly dismounted the dappled grey Courser, and removed her gloves, tucking them into her belt before she strode up to face her advisors. She looked in each of their eyes in turn, and frowned. "Who died?" She asked quietly.

When she spoke, the whole of Skyhold seemed to fall silent. Varric dismounted his horse, and came to stand next to her. Her mark seemed to flicker, once, twice, then fell to a hazy dim glow as she crossed her arms over her chest and waited expectantly. When no one spoke she said, plaintively this time, "Maker, who died?"

Leliana held out a ream of papers to the Inquisitor, who gingerly took them and began to read. Her face fell, then fell further when she got into the stack. At the confirmation of her father's death she fell to her knees. The dwarf attempted to catch Irgaine, but she swatted him away then held the papers out to him, and a few tears trickled down her face. Her eyes were blank, and she tried to stand up but her knees buckled beneath her again. Cullen moved to help Varric with her, and the two of them half-carried her up the stairs into the keep.

Irgaine recovered enough to walk through the Great Hall, and released Varric and Cullen, marching up the stairs on the dais. She looked down at them, and they both stopped. Her Worship held up a hand and said, "We will all meet in the War Room in an hour. You, too, Varric, if you wouldn't mind." 

"No problem, Irgaine." He assented before bowing and turning to find Hawke. 

Cullen looked at her then, and held out his arms. She fell into him, pressing her face into the fur of his mantle. They stood like that, for a few minutes, before she pulled back, her face the calm and rational mask of the Inquisitor. The most powerful woman in Thedas went into her room, up the stairs, and flung herself on her bed and cried.

\---

Solas followed them along as Josephine sent runners for things for the Inquisitor, at least as as far as the rotunda. He would see her in the Fade or he wouldn't, and they would find him if they needed him. He was still researching Andruil and the Grey Wardens in the farthest reaches he could, and he knew that there were books of ancient Elvehn legend amongst the mythology tomes of the wine cellar library. He set his gear down under his desk, and grabbed his toiletries and a change of clothing before retiring to the public baths off the garden.

He wondered as he pulled open the door if Irgaine had found the time before this to discuss what they'd seen in the Fade with Varric. Now there wouldn't seem to be an opportunity, and given the woman's reticence with him on the matter, Solas assumed she hadn't found the courage. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he was already nude and in his bath before he noticed Ser Bigg, eyeing him appreciatively from the next tub over. The Inquisitor had reassigned the Knight-Captain and her comrade Wejes to be the first recruits of her own personal guard, and the two women had returned to Skyhold with their retinue. 

The Templar smirked at him, and dunked her head, rinsing off the final layer of soap and shaking her hands through her thick black curls as she rose from the water, and stood to face the apostate, bare as birth, with water running off her, and out of her short raven locks in rivulets. Her eyes met his, and her tanned cheeks colored, but she did not move, and instead ran a hand over the curve of her her abdomen before gracefully exiting the tub on the other side. 

Solas' mouth hung open. It had been a long time since he'd seen a nude woman, and never a human, and he openly stared at her, at the nape of curls between her legs, and the beguiling smile she wore as she dried herself slowly. He paled as all the blood in his body rushed south, except for the two spots of scarlet that were the tips of his ears.

She was all curves and muscle, and her firm breasts bounced out of his view as she turned her back to him to shrug on her tunic and breeches. As she laced her boots she looked up at him again and murmured, "See you around, Ser Mage."

She was gone before he collected himself enough to speak.

\---

Leliana ran down the list if items they had attended to regarding Ostwick, only drawing attention to the need for the Inquisition to find a friendly or unoccupied port, which was something Irgaine was happy to do. Anything to help her people.

Varric piped up, "What about Daerwin's Mouth?"

"On the Storm Coast? I thought it was destroyed?" Irgaine asked.

Leliana rifled through the stack of papers in her hands. "Scouts from the Driftwood Margin camp report Red Templar activity in the vicinity of the caves outside it. More so, apparently, in the last two weeks. This report requests a field party to investigate. And this missive from the Blades of Hessarian indicates an influx of hostile parties. This is worth investigating."

"I'd like some time," Irgaine said quietly. "Let's wait for the party to arrive from Ostwick before we leave again." No one argued, and the Inquisitor nodded once, then left the room without another word. With nothing left to discuss, the meeting broke up, and they went their separate ways.

\---

Blackwall rounded the top of the stairs into the rookery, and it was the first thing he saw: 

_Lieutenant Cyril Mornay, one of the soldiers responsible for the Callier massacre of 9:37, was captured in Lydes. Like the others who were arrested for their involvement, Mornay insists that he did not know who he was assassinating, and that he was just following the orders of his Captain. This Captain, Thom Rainier, is still at large. Mornay is to be executed within the week In Val Royeaux._

He snatched the paper off of the pile, and turned on his heel to descend the tower. He went out to the ramparts through the rotunda, and down the long flights of stairs, through the bazaar to the stables. He went to his loft, and stripped, washed, trimmed his beard. When he was finished he put on a finely woven cotton tunic and comfortable woolen trousers. He laced himself into his favorite boots, grabbed the bottle of Grey Whiskey from his bags, and settled in close to the fire to get really, really drunk before he rode to the Orlesian capital.

He'd consumed about a third of what was in the bottle, and his stomach was getting warm. A hand fell to his shoulder, and he looked up to see Leliana tilting her head back to drop her hood. She smiled as he offered her the bottle and took it to drink, then sat down next to him on the floor to stare in the fire as well. They drank in silence, and slowly crept closer to one another until their sides were pressed together. He turned his head to risk a look at her, and her lips captured his in a sweet kiss.

His hands were in her hair, and hers fisted in the fabric of his tunic, as the kiss deepened, became more passionate. She pulled him to his feet and began to lead him up to his loft, smiling back at him as she ascended the stairs. He hesitated at the bottom, said her name. "Leliana. I don't want to hurt you."

"How can you know that you will?" She asked quietly, pulling him along. When they reached the top, she said, "You don't know tomorrow."

"I don't." He agreed, pulling her into his arms and backing her towards the bales of hay he slept on. "Then, right now, tonight, let there be nothing else. No one else. Just you and me."

She nodded, and pulled him into another passionate kiss. The world fell away around them.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the whole Mage/templar romance thing, and thought it would be interesting to explore it a bit with Solas. Especially with his canon thing of only liking elves. What if a human Templar started flirting with him? Even if he never does anything about it it's fodder for his discomfort. Which I am all for. I think it has potential, but you let me know.
> 
> I also like the notion of Cullen having some sort of hidden talent. A lot of fics have him singing in Chantry choirs and such. He does sing in-game, but I could easily picture him drawing as well. The way he talks about calibrating trebuchets makes me think he's a very visual person.
> 
> And Blackwall. I romanced him in my first playthrough, and his personal quest blindsided me. I might have shed a tear or two. The big jerk.
> 
> As always, I love your comments! Thanks for your patience, and thanks for reading!


	22. My Honor To Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally back at Skyhold, though not all together. 
> 
> NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait to get Cass and Varric together, but we have to deal with some feels. And some porny bits, which I hope you don't object to.

Cullen rounded the final landing that led to the Inquisitor's chamber carrying a basket full of her favorite food and drink. He didn't know what else to do for her, and came armed for silence with his box of charcoals and his rolled up illustrations from earlier that day. She sat on the chaise lounge facing the fire, staring into it. He crossed the room and set the basket down next to her on the cushion, pulling out two small metal mugs and a bottle of Uager. He poured two hefty shots and handed her one. Irgaine accepted wordlessly, and tipped back the liqueur, unflinching. He did the same, but shuddered at the burn down his throat. He'd been prepared for it, however, and cracked open the large bottle of cold Dwarven ale Dagna had produced out of nowhere, and presented to him just before he opened the door that led to the Inquisitor's stairwell.

It was brown, and a little sweet, nothing like the Dwarven Black Cabot served at the Herald's Rest. They didn't speak and soon enough it was gone, and he pulled out two paper-wrapped packages and handed one over to her. It was still warm, and she opened it to find a miniature fish pie, the size of her water skin. Her eyes widened appreciatively as she bit into it, and she looked down to rummage around in the basket for more to eat. She found two more cold, corked bottles of beer, and some apples.

They ate in silence, and Irgaine leaned against the arm of the chaise when she was done, clutching the bottle of Pale. Cullen moved to her desk and sat down, unrolling his parchment. There was a fresh sheet or two available, and so he flattened them as best he could, weighting them down with ink pots in the corners, and began to draw Irgaine in her contemplation. They sat together this way for some time, until she noticed the soft scratching of the charcoal on paper. She stood, and went to the desk. 

"You can draw." She said as she looked across at his portrait of her in shades of grey. It was beautiful, and sad, and captured her as though she looked in a mirror. Cullen's eyes flicked up at Irgaine and he smiled disarmingly. Even in her current bleak mood, it still made something low and hot in her belly tighten.

"I like to, sometimes. It's soothing." 

"This is amazing."

"Keep it, if you like."

"That's not necessary." Irgaine looked at him, then, and this close to her he could see the red rims around her eyes, the shadows beneath them. He pulled her into his lap, and she nuzzled into his neck. "Mm. You're not wearing your armor."

"It's a bit too shiny for dinner, you know." His arms tightened around her, and he reached up a hand to cup the back of her head. "Did you want to talk about it?"

"I don't think so. Not right now." Her lips grazed his neck, and she kissed a trail up his jaw to his lips. She shifted in his lap to kiss him, and moved her knees to either side of his hips. when his hands grazed her bottom and pulled her flush to him, she whimpered. She broke the kiss and leaned back. "Stay."

"As long as you like." There was still charcoal smudged on his hands from the sketches, but he reached up and tangled a hand in her hair. The shining gold-red tresses fell about both of them while they began to kiss again. His other hand released her backside and slid around to her front, under her tunic to graze along her abdomen. She sucked in a breath through her nose, and whimpered, grinding her hips into his.

Irgaine stood up, still kissing Cullen, and took his hands in hers, pulling him to standing. Their lips came apart, and she rested her head on his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. "Cullen, I..."

When she didn't finish her sentence, he put one arm around her and used his finger to tilt her chin up. He looked down into her emerald eyes and said, "Whatever you need."

"What I need? I need to stop thinking about everything. I need the world to go away. I need you." 

His mouth closed over hers again, tongue brushing her lips. She parted them, and the kiss became searing, needy. They ground themselves closer together, and her hands went to the hem of his shirt, and she pulled it up. They had to break away to pull it off, and Irgaine removed her shirt as well before pressing back into Cullen, and nip a trail down his chest. She fell to her knees, and he looked down at her, surprised, while she unlaced his breeches and slowly dragged them down his legs. "You don't have to do that." He said.

Any other protests died in his throat as she leaned forward and rubbed her cheek across his hardening length, before tugging down his smalls as well. She smirked up at him and flicked her tongue on the tip of his cock. "Oh, I want to do that." Without another word, her mouth plunged over him. She ringed the base of it with her hand, and between the swirling of her tongue, and the sweet gentle pressure of her fingers, Cullen was forced to lean back and brace himself against the desk.

It had been years since any woman had done this for him, and he found himself nearly undone when she used both hands, running up and down on his shaft, and took the tip into her mouth again to suck. Maker, she was marvelous at this. His gasps and groans got louder, and he finally had to reach down and pull on the back of her hair, to get her to stop and stand. "Keep that up, and it will be over far to soon."

She stared at his state of undress, at his muscular frame, at his hard, proud cock jutting out from his hips, and said, "Bed. Now." He shucked his smalls, trousers and boots while she walked to the bed, tossing her pants, chemise, slippers and smalls across the room, uncaring. Cullen gasped as she sat on the bed to face him, leaning back on her elbows. He could see the moisture glistening beneath the red curls between her legs, and he crossed the room and knelt in front of her, dragging her hips to the edge if the bed and flinging one leg over his left shoulder. He simply had to taste her, so he dipped his head and ran his tongue up the outside of her folds. Her head fell back and she moaned his name while his tongue ran back and forth across her nub, and when he entered her with a finger, she cried out.

"Shall I stop?" He asked, looking up at her.

"Please, Cullen, more," Her hips bucked toward his face, and he smirked a little as his mouth descended on her again. Irgaine keened when his tongue plunged inside her, and he had to hold her hips down with one hand while he brought her to the edge, and over with two fingers against her bud. Her whole body tensed as she climaxed, and he laved his tongue over her to prolong it. She shuddered, gasping, before relaxing back against the bed.

Her hands reached for his shoulders, and she pulled him closer, saying, "Get up here and fuck me."

\---

Leliana's brilliant red hair shone under the moonlight, and against the golden straw it blended into a shade of fire. Shining eyes met, and both she and Blackwall, joined together as the Maker intended, gasped hungrily at the sense of completion when he finally sheathed himself fully inside her. They stared at each other, and he set a slow pace, taking his time. Leliana moaned beneath him, tangling her hands in his beard and hair and wrapping her legs around his waist as he thrust deeper into her.

"So beautiful," he said, before capturing her lips with his again. He filled her entirely, all at once, with his cock and his tongue in her mouth, and she opened her hips wider for him, driving her heels into the small of his back. The pressure she applied there urged him to speed up, and he complied, hissing as she tore away from the kiss to throw her head back.

He raked his teeth down her neck, gently scraping a trail to her breasts, where she gasped as he licked and nipped and sucked at the pale white mounds. Their coupling became fierce for a moment, all nails and biting mouths. She dug her fingernails into his ass, and he thrust into her as hard as he could. 

_So hot, so wet, so tight,_ Blackwall felt himself cresting, this time, instead of being pulled down as he had with the Nightingale before. Her walls quivered around him, and a low moan started in her chest. Her hips bucked into his, making every sensation more intense. She hung on to him for dear life, arms and legs tightening around him. Her moan grew louder, creaking in her throat as she climaxed. Blackwall couldn't hold out any longer, and spent into her, silently, his beard rubbing her neck and his mouth on her jaw.

They stayed together for a few minutes, catching their breath. Leliana wrapped her arms around him, and rested her chin on his head, and he slid off of her to her left, placing and arm over her waist. It was quiet in the stables, the only sounds the whickering of the harts beneath the loft, and the moon still shone in. She brushed her fingers through the hair at his temple, and placed a soft kiss on the craggy skin there.

He looked up into her face and smiled sadly, then nuzzled deeper into her embrace. She rolled a bit to sling a leg over him. Her eyes cast about a little, and she reached down to the floor for the coarse woolen blanket he slept under. She spread it across them, smiling because it smelled like him, like tobacco and horses and sweat. Their limbs tightened around each other and they lay there quietly, not sleeping.

\---

Solas stood back from the section of the mural he was working in in the rotunda. He stared at it, pensively, with his chin in his right hand, paying no attention when the door from the ramparts opened. It shut again quickly, and a burst of chilly mountain air brushed the top of the apostate's overcrowded desk. Books blew open, and a few papers scattered to the floor. He looked at the mess for a second, then turned his head to glare at the person who dared to let the wind cross his space. 

The sun was barely coming up, and it bathed her in soft rosy light as she turned around sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Ser Mage."

Solas scowled and said, "Knight-Lieutenant."

"It's just Corporal, now." Bigg said as she went across the room to his desk, then crouched and began to pick up his papers. She placed the loose leaves into the top book of the pile and closed it before she looked down at the title. She smiled and hefted the book, "I've always liked this one, even if it ends tragically."

"I haven't gotten that far yet. Which one is that?" He set his paintbrush on the board he was using to mix colors, and set them on the floor close to the wall, before joining her at the desk. She had arranged his things as neatly as she could, and was nervously running a hand through her mop of chestnut curls as she held the volume out to him.

Solas rubbed his suddenly damp palms on the sides of his tunic before taking the book from her. Their fingertips brushed and he pulled back a bit. "Adventures of the Black Fox. A children's story." 

"It's interesting, though, that you can read it and point out where some of the stories come from. One is a rip off of the Canticle of Victoria, another a Fereldan folk tale. But all are made adventures of this dashing rogue, and no one knows if they were ever true, or if he even existed." Ser Bigg replied.

"I should think a book like this would be banned from the Circle." 

"Our Knight-Commander and Grand Enchanter saw eye to eye on a few things. One was an extensive and worldly library. I took advantage of the opportunity, and read as much as I could."

"That... Does not surprise me." He tilted his head, and regarded her, looking for all the world like a wolf weighing its prey.

When they finally looked directly into each other's eyes, they both paused, staring. Ser Bigg had large, blue eyes, and he could not tear his own dark orbs away. After a long, searching moment, he turned, and rummaged through the pile of books on his desk. "Here." He held one out to her. 

The way he looked at her was fascinating. She accepted the slim volume, fingers brushing the back of his hand this time. Their eyes flickered together for a moment, and he could feel a blush creeping up his neck as he said, "The Ballad of Ayesleigh."

"About the fourth Blight?" She kept her thumb over the back of his had while she asked, "Are you sure I can borrow this?"

"I'm sure. Bring it back when you've finished." The blush was moving fast, to his cheeks, and he pulled his hand away and turned to walk back to his paints next to the mural. 

"I will. Thank you, Ser Mage."

"Call me Solas."

She laughed a little, a low throaty chuckle. "Then call me Lucy. Thanks again for the book." She left the rotunda without another word.

. \---

Irgaine wrapped the soft robe around her body, and then bent over to twist her wet hair into the towel from the washstand. Dawn was barely breaking over the Frostbacks, and the soft pink light gently illuminated her chambers, and the gorgeous sleeping man in her grand Orlesian bed. Cullen, snoring on his back, had one arm flung over his head and the other on his stomach. She smiled at the sweet, peaceful look on his face and wondered when he had last slept so well. She left him there, not wanting to disturb him, and pulled on some grey leggings and boots, and a soft white blouse. When she took the towel out of her hair, she grabbed the comb from the nightstand and went out to her balcony, shutting the glass door behind her.

The gates of the keep were just closing, and Irgaine squinted at the figure riding across the bridge, but it was too far away, and the sun was coming up at such an angle she could barely see the horse. She combed her hair out, braided and pinned it up, and silently stole down the stairs in search of breakfast.

Sergeant Wejes, her new guard, stood outside the door to her chambers, waiting. She was looking around, her severe blond bun swinging quickly with each turn of her head. "Good Morning, your Worship."

"And to you, Sergeant."

\---

Leliana woke to the sunrise streaming into the opening of the loft, on a soft bed of straw. At some point in the night she'd kicked off the blankets, and found herself nude as she sat up. "Blackwall?"

She looked around for her clothing, and found it strewn everywhere. She pulled on her smalls and band, and when she reached for her shirt she found a wooden badge wrapped up in it. A wooden, Grey Warden badge. Her heart sank as she dragged her tunic over her head, and then further when she found a crumpled up piece of parchment in the pocket of her trousers.

_it has been my honor to know you, and my privilege to make love to you. please, don't come after me._

She scanned the room and found the missing report about Thom Rainier's lieutenant. She felt herself steeling her heart as she nearly sprinted down the stairs to find a runner.

\---

Hawke and Varric went to the dwarf's quarters that first night to relax, split a bottle of Hirol's Lava Burst, and play cards and catch up. When Hawke caught on that there was something Varric was not telling him, Varric revealed his relationship with Cassandra, smiling almost shyly as his friend stared at him, plainly shocked. They stayed up talking until well after Sixth, and then Hawke crashed on the fainting couch, which was ridiculously comfortable, while Varric snored away in his bed.

They were not disturbed until an hour after sunrise. There was a soft knock at the door, so Varric rolled out of bed, and padded over barefoot and shirtless. When he got to the door, he pulled it open; Irgaine stood there, and her mouth fell open as she stared at Varric, his copper hair loose and curling around his stubbed smirking chin, and at his well-muscled arms and chest. 

"Tongue tied, your Worship?" He drawled up at her.

That earned him crossed arms and a slightly heated glare. Her mark flared, and Varric thought Irgaine might be a little flustered. She said, "There is a meeting in the War Room. Join us at your earliest convenience, and please bring Hawke."

"I should be flattered that you came yourself, huh?" Varric asked. He unconsciously inched half a step closer to the Herald. She wore a well-fitted white blouse and leggings, and though everything was covered it left very little to imagine. The dwarf smiled lazily at her as he looked her up and down. 

She backed away too quickly. "Stop it."

"I'll wake Hawke, and we will join you soon." He grinned knowingly. She really was uncomfortable! He couldn't resist another jab. "I don't need to wear a shirt, you know."

"And here I thought we had a truce." The Anchor flickered while she spoke. 

"You don't miss it? How we used to constantly talk shit to each other?"

"Not since you started constantly talking shit to the Seeker. Kind of puts a damper on flirting when someone might get stabbed." She pointed to the scar on her neck, illuminated by the flickering green light. "And I don't need your help to remember Adamant, though now that we're speaking again, we should probably discuss a few things."

His eyes narrowed and he said, "What kind of things?"

"Just, meet me on the ramparts at Fifth bell. Bring a bottle of something, and I'll bring the cards. Don't bring Hawke."

"Is it bad news? How strong should this drink be?"

"It's not bad, necessarily, though I suppose it depends on your perspective."

"I have some Tevinter bourbonne I won from Dorian."

"Sounds good. See you in a bit." Irgaine rolled her eyes and smiled as Varric intentionally flexed his shoulders while he shut the door. As it closed, he heard her say, "Insufferable dwarf."

He turned, and Hawke was sitting upright, with his fists planted in the cushion of the fainting couch, next to his hips. He leaned forward and his eyes slid down to hazel slits. "What was that all about?"

"Oh, they just want us for the war council today. I hope it doesn't take too long, it gets boring at the big table." Varric went to his chest of drawers, and pulled out a clean shirt, then went to the washstand to clean up.

Hawke said, "That's not what I mean, as you are aware. The other stuff, 'since you're speaking again?' 'We had a truce?' 'Don't bring Hawke?' Come on, Varric, do you think I'm stupid?" The Champion stood up and stretched. He stifled a yawn with one hand, and with the other, reached for his jacket. He stared into the rogue's reflection in the mirror as he washed his face and rinsed his mouth. When Varric ignored the question, Hawke rolled his eyes.

He let the dwarf finish washing, and moved to the basin himself after a moment. He cleaned up pretty well, after a few minutes with Blackwall's barber kit. He'd trimmed his beard back to an acceptable length and had begun working on his hair before speaking again. "Are you going to answer my question or not? Varric?"

The dwarf laced up his trousers and replied, "Things with Irgaine and me are, ah, complicated." Now fully dressed, Varric walked up to the washstand, holding a footstool. He plucked the scissors from Hawke's hand and motioned for the man to sit. They grinned at each other in the mirror, and Varric set to work cutting back Hawke's thick straight hair. "And the Seeker is..."

"She's a firestorm, Varric. Cassandra suits you, because she won't put up with your shit." Varric was combing through the back of his head and evening it out with quick snips of the scissors. "Gotta respect a woman that can kick your ass."

"And she can. Not half bad with verbal sparring, either. She's fucking gorgeous, and she stabbed me in the book, and. Well." Varric continued grooming Hawke."

Hawke laughed and Varric glared as he tried to keep up with his friends swinging head. "Never seen you speechless over a woman, Tethras. Either you're losing it or she's the one."

Well there was something to digest, and something he hadn't thought on. A future? With Cassandra? Well, first they had to survive Corypheus, but, what if it were possible? His mind wandered to the curve of her smile, her arm flung over her face, the whoops of the camp as he kissed her goodbye. The way her accent thickened after one too many Uagers.

Hawke sat, waiting impatiently for the rest of his haircut. "Let's go with the first option. Give me the scissors, you lovesick swain."

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, Blackwall thing has to be done. How does Leliana react? Is she pissed? Or does she forgive, because she has done so much bad for the "greater good?" Feel free to weigh in in the comments.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated. Thanks for reading!


	23. Like a Real Antivan Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana deals with her...business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hello again, dear reader. I am sorry about the delay, and thank you for coming back to visit.

It was an odd, sight, even first thing in the morning, for Leliana to look rumpled. But she did, with strands of red sticking out from her straight cropped hair, and her blouse loose and untucked. Wejes and Bigg stood just inside the War Room doors, holding them open as the rest of the inner circle that were at the keep tromped into the room, alone and in pairs. 

Solas was the first to arrive, and he moved around the table to stand next to Cullen, facing the doors and Corporal Bigg, who smiled at him quickly and patted her belt pouch before her face returned to the calm mask of a guard. Cullen glanced over at him questioningly, and Solas suppressed a smirk. Before the Commander could say anything, Dorian entered and waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. Cullen rolled his eyes and looked back at Leliana, who was smoothing her hair.

If he didn't know better, Sister Nightingale might have been somewhat nervous when Josephine swept into the room, looking as tidy and fresh as Leliana looked disheveled. The two women took their places across from each other at the table while Sera entered, holding a giant tray of freshly baked muffins. She set them down on the edge of the table, said "S'too early for cookies," and then flopped to the floor of the chamber, holding one muffin in each hand.

Dorian took a pastry, as well, and stood to her right, blocking Sister Nightingale from her view. "Fairly certain it's customary to stand at these sort of things." He took a bite of his confection and reached down to offer the archer a hand up.

Sera swatted it away, and over her mouthful, said, "Mh'ever theym got to tell mph afore smechomph bmell," she swallowed, "they can tell me while I sit."

Hawke followed Varric into the room, and the guardswomen swung the doors shut with a rumbling boom. The two friends stood to the Inquisitor's left, and she passed the tray of muffins to Hawke, who took one and passed it to Varric. The tray went around the table and back to Sera. She gathered the last three muffins into her lap.

Leliana tucked her hair behind her ears. She said, "Warden Blackwall has departed Skyhold."

A shocked noise rose from the table while she continued, "I believe he left sometime between sixth bell and sunrise. I found this report from Orlais in his loft, but I don't know it has to do with him. That makes me very, very angry. I know you just got back from the Western Approach, but I have to recommend you assemble a party immediately to go after him. And I wish to join you."

The room erupted in chatter.

"....barely been out of the Fade a week!"

"...vague, 'ee was, with 'is mphm...stories... Been wondering..."

"....cannot possibly..."

"...were with him, weren't you?..."

Irgaine held up her marked hand. It took a few moments, but the green glow helped the room eventually quiet. She took another bite of her muffin while she waited. "I have to agree with Leliana. Solas, if you would be so kind, Sera, Dorian, Corporal Bigg. Gather your gear and mount up and meet me at the gates in an hour."

The Inquisitor peered into her Spymaster's eyes. Seeming satisfied with what she saw, she said, "You, too, Leliana. This meeting is adjourned."

They all filed out, and Irgaine paused at the doors to speak to Bigg. "You've been eyeing the Red Hart in the stable lately, have you not? She seems to like you. You may ride her, if she'll have you."

The former Templar smiled beautifully and nodded. "Of course, your Worship. Thank you, your Worship."

Bigg trotted off, and Wejes followed the Inquisitor up to her chambers. She stood at the door, bowed, and pulled it shut, leaving Irgaine to wash and pack.

\---

"Varric." Leliana had quietly followed the dwarf and the Champion to his table in front of the fire. Hawke jumped and whirled to face her, while Varric merely grinned as she said, "There is an important matter I wish to discuss with you."

"Sister Nightingale. What can I do for you?"

"There are a few things that require...monitoring whilst I am away. I hoped you would not mind joining me in the rookery while I pack?" She gestured behind her to the door.

Varric shared a helpless look with Hawke, who shrugged and sat in the storyteller's armchair with one of the many manuscripts lying around. Leliana took their silence for assent and led Varric into the rotunda and up the stairs. She pointed to the desk, where she had a map of Thedas, and three piles of reports. "Of particular interest is news from Kirkwall. The top one, center pile."

_I was fortunate to be inside the city, at one of the fine establishments in Hightown, dining on fresh prawns and entertaining that friend we spoke of. He did have the most fascinating stories. Including one of a king I found especially entertaining. As for his destination, he mentioned an ancient desert fortress, said you would know the one. He also wants you to know his affliction has ceased, but said you would find him no more sufferable now than ever you have._

_We dined at a table on a balcony, overlooking the gates to the harbor. I'd just refilled our wine when a loud creak resounded. The arms of the great ancient statues began to rise, and a few vessels skated by before the chains began to come out of the water. The Viscount has closed the city, barring it from the refugees from Ostwick, and in general from the outside. No one is permitted entrance, though so far as I know, my dinner companion was able to leave. I assume he must have resorted to more nefarious measures than I would be capable of assembling._

_Our other friends do not seem to be in the city. There were rumors in Lowtown of an armored woman, a Qunari, a dwarf, a child, and several others seen boarding the pirate vessel_ Entendre II _. I can only hope they arrive safely._

_Regards,  
_Option__

"Please, please tell me the Seeker isn't on Rivaini's ship." Varric groaned. He had a little history with Isabela, one she would most likely share. At least Cassandra was on her way home. She could strangle him when she got back and he'd still be happy to see her.

"Oh, she is. I hope that isn't an issue?"

The dwarf rolled his eyes and turned back to the letter. "They city's closed itself to the refugees. Not surprising, really, after the last Blight." Varric rubbed his forehead. "Means people flooding the countryside. It also means people will die with no place to go."

"My agents are spreading to the region, to try to funnel people towards us. There's a lot of space in the valley, and we've been talking in the council about the development of New Haven. Perhaps some of the surviving Marchers could be directed, or persuaded, to settle here?" Leliana had moved behind her partition, and he could hear her shoving things around. The swift hiss of stone against blade.

"And we would be remiss if we did not search for the surviving Trevelyans. Irgaine mentioned she has over twenty cousins." The dwarf sat down at her desk, "And if, say, some of those Marchers and/or cousins were the finest craftsmen, or purveyors of specialty goods, or artisans of high quality, or soldiers, they would be all the more welcome, wouldn't they?"

Her head popped around the bookcase that served as a barrier to her private space, and she said, "And is there no one better qualified to find and recruit these people than someone who lived in the Marches all his life?"

"It's not outside the realm of possibility. I still know a few people here and there. A suggestion; extend this search to the areas around the fighting in Orlais. I'm sure there are similar folk floating around the Emprise as well." He was studying the map of Thedas, and contemplating where he'd last seen Worthy. "I'd be happy to write a few letters for you. There will most likely be others who wish to come here as well."

"We will certainly not turn away anyone who wishes to settle in the valley. But the future must be seen to. We cannot sustain a force of this size, or the keep, without our own traders." The sound of her sharpening her blade began again, as she said, "Perhaps I could ask Madame de Fer to extend her Duke's influence to the displaced around Montsimmard."

"That's actually an excellent idea. Well, I'll get to work on this stuff today. Anything else you need?" Varric stepped away from the desk, and stood in front of it, leaning with his arms crossed and his back against it. She finished sharpening her blade, and stepped out for a moment, hairbrush in hand. He smiled cheekily at her as she dragged it through her tangled locks with a grunt. He wondered how many people she felt comfortable brushing her hair in front of? (And if he should be flattered, or afraid?)

"Depends how long I'm gone. If it's more than a week, see if Cullen and Josephine need help managing, if you would." Leliana pulled up her hood, and went back into her makeshift quarters. "You're no stranger to the business. And your Guild contacts could prove useful."

"It will take me about that long to handle this project, anyway. I'll take my leave, then. Have a safe trip, Sister."

She murmured her thanks, and he tromped back down the stairs to the main hall of the keep. Hawke was still sitting at his desk, but he was conversing with Solas. The Apostate's' left hand glowed and he ran it quickly across Hawke's forehead and chest. "You're dehydrated, but otherwise hale."

"Hear that, trusty dwarf? He says I need to drink more." Hawke grinned and ran a hand over his beard as Varic approached them. Solas had his staff slung across his back, tied into his pack, and when he turned to greet the author, his cup and bowl clanged against each other.

"Yes, more alcohol is entirely what is required." Solas said archly, reaching a hand back to calm the sound of tin against tin. "Please don't get well, and especially drink yourself into a stupor."

"Well you heard him, Varric." Hawke was still smiling but nodded at the elf. "I can promise a flagon of water for every ale. Will that suffice?"

"I imagine it will have to." The corners of Solas' mouth might have turned up. "Based on the rate at which you consume ale, I am less concerned."

"Seriously, though, Solas, thank you." Hawke extended his hand.

The elf reached out and shook it. "It was my honor."

"And mine. Safe travels, Solas."

"Be well in my absence, Champion."

\---

Josephine was wrapped up in her own thoughts as she opened the door to her office. She barely watched, though she noticed, Leliana walking quickly across the main hall to the door to the rotunda. It was all she could do to not pay attention to the purpose in the other woman's stride. 

She opened the door to her office and strode to the banquette to pour her self a strong mug of the Nevarran tea Cassandra had gifted her. Her hands shook with anger as she poured. _How could she?_ She'd thought that the ....assignation...with Blackwall had ended, as neither he nor Leliana had mentioned anything to her (nor come to her for affection), but she had been suspicious! and it turned out they had been seeing each other and excluding her completely. Well.

Josephine took a long draw from the mug. It was blazing hot, and burned a trail down to her stomach. She'd looked at Leliana while everyone was yelling and asked, "You were with him, weren't you, last night?" Leliana's eyes fell to the table and she knew it was true. 

She refilled her mug and went and sat on the chair behind her desk. Cullen stood there, with one hand loosely by his side, and the other on the pommel of his sword. "Is there any chance, you would tell me what is wrong if I asked?"

A dry, mirthless chuckle escaped her lips, and traitorous tears stung her eyes as she shook her head. "You wish to be helpful, Commander. And for that you have my thanks."

"For someone whose entire life revolves around talk, you can be very reticent. I can keep a secret, you know. And with Leliana gone for who knows how long, we will have to split her work. Do you really want to do that, feeling however you're feeling? I saw how you two were looking at each other, in there." He turned slightly pink, and rubbed the back of his neck. "I know it's none of my business, but Josephine, if you don't speak to me, at least find _someone_ to talk to."

As he spoke her shoulders tensed and she gripped the handle of her mug tightly. "I thank you for your concern." She said.

"But you don't wish to speak of it." Cullen finished. "I understand. At least go talk to Leliana, before she leaves. Maybe you'll feel better."

"Or I'll feel entirely worse. But you're right, Commander." Josephine smiled sadly at him, set down her steaming tea, and left the room. He followed her as far as the Rotunda, where she turned to ascend the stairs.

Leliana was strapping on the sheaths for her daggers when she heard two raps on the wall outside her space. Without thinking, she said, "Enter."

Josephine took a deep breath and walked in. "Hello."

The Nightingale blinked a few times. Then she said, "I should have known you'd come. And I'm glad you did."

"You're glad? How so?"

"I want to try to make things right between us. I know you're angry." She slid Trouble and Strife into their sheaths and sat on the bed, motioning with a hand for the Antivan to join her. 

"Angry is only part of it." Josie crossed her arms and stood stubbornly where she was. "I am also hurt. And offended. And confused. Did you both suddenly decide you didn't want me? I don't understand. Explain."

Leliana sighed. "I never meant to fall for him, you know. We share a...similar darkness. I think he's seen more than he tells us about, and done more than he likes to remember. I understand that."

"And what about me? Do you no longer have feelings for me?" Josephine hated the plaintive note in her voice. 

"Of course! You are a dear friend.."

_"...a dear friend? What does that even mean?..."_

"It's just, he's..."

"What, male? We can both do things for you the other cannot. I just wish you'd cut me off earlier, instead of convincing me to lure him into bed." The worst thing about this, was that Josephine could not help but raise her voice. She felt shrill, stupid, jilted. She felt the surface of her face heat, but her stomach was full of ice. She took a deep breath, and when Leliana didn't defend herself' she continued, almost shakily, "Were you testing him out? And if you didn't like it, well, there was still me to fall back on, and then you could say it was a little harmless fun? I'm sorry, Leliana, but that's horribly selfish."

"That wasn't what I meant and you know it. It was supposed to be harmless fun. I remind you, you took him for yourself first."

"And came clean about it immediately! And we made arrangements. Which were conveniently ignored. Listen, Leliana, I know the heart wants what it wants. But this was...unconscionable. I could understand him not coming to me, but you? How long have we been friends? Do you not trust me? Or maybe you don't understand, that I haven't gone to see Blackwall, because I realize, that all I want is you? I was waiting for you to come to me, but you never did, and we've been so busy..."

The look on Josephine's face broke her heart, but it was past time to lie. Leliana looked her in the eyes, and said. "Oh, Josie, I am so, so sorry." Leliana stood and crossed the room to Josephine and held out her arms. There was a moment, a weightless moment where everything hung suspended between them, where anything could go any way it chose, and they peered at one another through it, seeing each other clearly for maybe the first time.

Josephine knew it was over, and she shook her head and backed up a step. Tears glistened in her eyes as Leliana let her arms fall, leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. "I'm sorry." The Nightingale picked up her bags and left, and the Ambassador stood there and listened to her leave.

And then Josphine did something she swore she never would: she flung herself facedown on the bed like a real Antivan princess and cried.

\---

Leliana stopped in the small Chantry in the Gardens before she went out to the gates. It felt good to splash her face in the small fountain near the alcoves. When she was done, she sat, and prayed to Andraste for forgiveness, and strength, and patience. She could only hope for the same things for Josephine. 

She fingered the small nug carving in her pocket as she walked down to the stables to join the rest of the party. They seemed resigned, for the most part, somber and silent, and as she strapped her bags to the saddle, the gates began to open. They rode out single file, first Bigg on the red Hart, then the Inquisitor, followed by Leliana, Solas, and then Dorian and Sera, who were embroiled in a conversation about their latest excursion.

Dorian hissed at something Sera said, and waved a hand to shush her, and Leliana frowned and looked up. The bright sun shone down on them harshly, entirely too merry to suit her mood. She shared a look with Irgaine and Bigg, and spurred her horse to a gallop behind the Inquisitor's sure footed Fereldan Forder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	24. Dirt and Presumption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We were almost all back at Skyhold. I swear that was the plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaaaat? Double update? Nuh uh.
> 
> I'd like to take a moment to extend my gratitude for your patience. As I've mentioned, Captain Toddlerpants is my writer's block. He's damned adorable though, and if you saw a picture I'd like to think you'd forgive his sweet little face.

It didn't take Hawke but a few days to settle into a routine at Skyhold.

Mornings were for sleeping, and he would get off the fainting couch around midday, head down to the tavern for some food, then down to the yards. He would watch the Chargers train, and after about half an hour, he'd get bored, and spar with whoever was around. Today it was Grim, who Hawke didn't use magic against. It felt good to practice with the staff, but he was rusty as shit, and lost quickly. 

He stayed around and tried to lift the heavy logs he'd seen the Bull toss around. The Qunari laughed at his abortive, and flailing, attempt. It turned out being in the fade was quite draining, and so he headed off to Varric's room for some fresh clothes, and then off to the baths. After a good long soak, he would dress and head out to the Great Hall to sit with Varric and read for awhile. Yesterday he'd written to Merrill and Bela instead.

When Varric was done doing.....whatever it was he did, they would adjourn to the tavern for dinner (they had his favorite fish pie, and a goat version that wasn't half bad, either) and ale (which he dutifully chased with water,) and there were always card games happening. Over the first few nights he'd come to know some faces.

The Champion of Kirkwall had been at the keep less than a week, and tonight, he sat at a table with the straw-haired Guardswoman Wejes, Varric, and Ambassador Montilyet, while the Antivan dealt a new hand of Wicked Grace. He was up a fair bit of coin, but Varric smugly smirked at his cards in such a way that Hawke folded. Wejes shook her head at him, as if to say _coward!_ and then threw in two silvers to call the dwarf's bluff. The card face up on the pile was the Battalion of Songs, and the newly minted Sergeant revealed four more cards from the suit and the Angel Of Death.

Varric groaned and showed his hand. A full cottage did not, in fact, beat a blush, and the Angel meant he had to pony up another silver to the new card shark in his life. Wejes' long blond hair brushed the table top as she scraped her winnings into a pile in front of her and called to Elise for more drinks. When they arrived the woman smirked at the pretty blonde dwarf, and cheekily dropped a silver into her bodice. 

"Sergeant Wejes," Josephine asked a she dealt another hand, "Where did you serve before you joined the Inquisition?"

"Please, Lady Montilyet, my given name is Aurelie. And I was in training to become a Templar under Corporal Bigg, but the Mage Rebellion started before I could perform my Vigil. We served the Chantry at the Circle in Montsimmard." The blonde warrior threw two coppers in to start the betting. 

"Are you acquainted with the Iron Lady?" The ambassador asked. Her hands were graceful as she passed out more cards.

Wejes chuckled. "I'm familiar with the butt of her staff, anyway."

The group laughed, and then the bell sounded twice, for another party arriving at the keep. Varric stood up, and finished his drink, then gathered his coins into his pouch. "Thank you all for a lovely game."

Hawke put a hand on his arm. "Where are you going?"

"The ramparts, to see who's coming in. Should be the party from Ostwick."

"I'll come with you."Hawke and Josephine said at the same time. Varric grinned at them, and they all headed for the door. 

When Hawke, Josephine, and Varric finished climbing the stairs, Cullen already stood there, and Josephine went to stand next to him, gripping the stone railing, and stared at the outer gates. They swung open, and the first figure that appeared was the Iron Bull, astride a giant Nuggalope. Even the nug looked relieved to see Skyhold. After that trailed Vivienne, Cole, a blonde woman and girl sharing a horse, a tall man with long reddish hair, and then the Seeker. Varric was watching intently, and before the Chargers finally appeared behind Cassandra, he turned and headed down the stairs. 

The gate opened, and they all filed in, swerving to the right towards the stables. When Dennet came out to collect the mounts, the Iron Bull dismounted as he eyed him askance. "Where's Blackwall?"

"Bolted a few days ago. Some execution in Val Royeaux." Dennet patted the Nuggalope on the nose. It was obviously relieved to have the huge heavy Qunari off its back. "Inquisition took a party after him."

"So he really did have a secret, huh, Chief?" Krem asked as he unstrapped his saddlebags. "Guess I owe you a sov."

"Cremissius," Vivienne said in an only mildly haughty tone, "Do be a dear and help our guests with their things." She dismounted and carefully began removing her luggage from her horse.

Gareth helped Claira down from in front of her Mother, while Mira dismounted off the other side, and Krem came over and began untying the sparse belongings they'd scrounged and purchased along the way. She was still behind the horse when Varric arrived with Cullen right behind him. The men approached Cassandra's mount as she sat, waiting for the space to hop off. "Gentlemen," the Seeker said, nodding. 

"I am glad to see you safe, Cassandra." Cullen said, offering his hand and helping her down from the horse. "How was your, ah, trip home?"

"Interesting." Cassandra smirked at the Commander, who began to turn a pale shade of pink. "Isabela was...very informative."

Varric cleared his throat, and the Seeker turned to him, and put her hands on his shoulders. She was still smiling softly, but she said. "The Admiral had a few interesting things to say about you, too."

"Isabela is a busybody." Varric snorted. "And that was a long time ago."

Cassandra leaned forward and whispered in Varric's ear, "She may have made a few suggestions."

He felt his mouth go dry, and turned his head to look at her. Now there was a wicked little gleam in her eyes. Varric pulled her into his arms and turned his head to rest it over her heart. She said, "I'm filthy."

"I'd love that, Seeker." After a moment, his hands slowly began to rove up her ribcage, over her shoulders, and down her arms. She smiled into his hair as he pulled her closer and tightened their embrace.

"What are you doing, Varric?" She murmured, practically purred, into his temple as her lips grazed across it.

"I'm checking you for injuries." His hands grazed her backside, and it was all she could do not to show a reaction. His thumbs hooked under the leather straps on the side of her breastplate while she trailed kisses along his forehead and down this nose.

"You're extremely thorough, dwarf."

Varric hummed. "So are you." His chin tilted higher on her fingertips, and they looked into each other's eyes. He was nearly undone by the heat in her stare, so he rasped, "Anything for my number one fan."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Then kiss me."

\---

Cullen could have done without the little display between Cassandra and Varric, and so he rolled his eyes and darted between the horses to shake hands with Gareth, who was conversing with Krem, Claira, Vivienne , and a blond woman who must have been the girl's mother. Claira smiled and waved at him, and while the blond woman spoke with the Iron Lady, the girl sidled up to him and said, "Where's Gainey?"

"She went to--". Cullen finally saw the blond woman's face, and blanched. "Sweet maker! _Mira?_ "

She looked up at Cullen when he said her name. Yes, it was her, it was _Mira,_ largely unchanged from their time together in Kirkwall, and her whole face lit up when she saw him. She had aged well, with fetching crinkles around her merry blue eyes and her rich golden hair longer than he remembered and shot with lighter, almost white streaks. Mira still had a beatific smile, one that made him smile back. When she held her arms open, he reached out and lifted her up, spinning her around in the air. "Cullen! Put me down!"

They were both laughing, and Claira looked at them with her lip quirked up on the right, totally and entirely confused. 

Cullen set Mira down and pulled her into a hug. "It's been..."

"Maker, it's been a decade." She finished for him while she hugged him back. "I'd heard you were here, and Commander of the army! It's...hard to wrap my head around."

"I can only imagine. And here you are...how did you get here?" He released her from his arms and she stepped back. 

"She rode with us on the ship. Are you going to tell him now, Mira?" Cole appeared out of thin air and tugged his hat down over his eyes, the wide brim obscuring his face. 

Mira glared at the boy, and shook her head. Cole nodded, understanding her thoughts. "Tales for a later time. All right."

Cullen chose to ignore the exchange, and instead looked down at Claira, who was still waiting expectantly for an answer to her question. The child was desperately in need of a bath, and upon closer inspection so were the rest of the group of weary travelers. "Your aunt went to Val Royeaux on business."

"She's not my Aunt, she's my cousin." Claira corrected him.

"Cousin?" Cullen looked at Mira for clarification.

"Her mother was my mother's sister." She supplied. 

The Iron Lady strode up, smiling slightly disdainfully at Cullen. She said, "Commander, let's get our guests settled, and you can continue your reunion then."

"Of course you are right, Madame. Please, Josephine, show our guests to the rooms you see fit, until we can have more permanent accommodations settled for them. If you would." Cullen bowed slightly between the Iron Lady and Josephine, who up to this point had not spoken.

But the ambassador nodded graciously, allowing the slight incursion into her territory, already fully aware that she would assign them the quarters over gardens that were well-appointed. Vivienne looked at something over Cullen's shoulder and nodded. She stepped forward and reached for Josephine's arm, saying, "Forgive my dirt and presumption, Lady Montilyet, but I should like to join you, as far as my chambers." Lady Montilyet blinked once, then smiled warily at the Iron Lady. Gareth took Claira's hand and moved to follow them, and Krem attended to the bags with Cullen and Mira in tow.

Chatter faded into the background as they left. Varric and Cassandra were...busy when Hawke strode up and cleared his throat. They sprang apart guiltily, and the Seeker turned to glare at the intruder, but her jaw dropped when she saw who it was. The Champion grinned and simply said, "Hi."

"The Champion of Kirkwall? You're alive?"

Hawke reached out a hand and touched her on the shoulder, "Yep."

She rubbed at her arm, surprised at the contact, and looked back down at Varric. "How is that even possible?"

"It's possible because Solas and Irgaine found him while they were wandering the Fade near Adamant." The dwarf replied. "We pulled him out of one of the rifts."

"That's...amazing." Cassandra was stunned, and she stood a moment to collect her thoughts before she spoke again. Varric took advantage of the silence.

"There is the small matter we wanted to apologize for." He shifted his feet and pulled away a little. "We sort of killed one of your Seeker targets without you. Someone of Something Bay? The Inquisitor sends her regrets."

"I would have preferred the Approach to the unpleasantness that was Ostwick. Sand in armor and all." She said. "And I appreciate you all taking the time to resolve one of my contracts."

"Was it bad?" Hawke asked quietly. He'd left Kirkwall to prevent another Exalted March, but the description of the disaster in Ostwick made him wish he could go back to the Marches to help.

Cassandra sighed and rested her forehead against Varric's. She was looking at him when she said, "It was one of the worst things I've ever seen. And I'm honestly exhausted."

"Not too exhausted, I hope." Varric grinned at her, and Hawke began to consider where he would be sleeping that night. He was pretty sure it wouldn't be the comfy couch in Varric's room.

\---

An hour later, Cassandra was having a nice soak in the public baths off the gardens. She'd dropped off the crates with the lyrium devices and blueprints in the Undercroft, then her bags above the smithy before coming here. The water steamed and she sighed and shrunk down further into the tub. The door swung open, and the Lady Vivienne appeared with Mira and Claira in tow. All three of them carried towels and bars of soap.

"Lady Cassandra!" Claira was happy to see her, anyways, and undressed and hopped into a nearby tub. Mira got in behind her and began to wash her hair. The girl protested.

"You know, it will hurt your head less if you let me comb your hair, baby." As she set to work, Mira turned to Cassandra and said, "So, you and a dwarf, huh? You must get on quite well with Gainey."

Vivienne snickered and Cassandra turned to look at her, then replied, "I don't know what you mean."

"Irgaine has a thing for dwarves. Lots of Carta thug buddies, two relationships. A thing. Which I should not have assumed you share." Mira's eyes hooded and she continued to work on her daughter's tangles. 

"Varric isn't just...a thing." The Seeker sniffed. 

"He's nice. And funny. Ow, Maman!" Claira yelped. "But, no beard. Which is odd, if you ask me."

"She didn't, darling. Did you spend a lot of time with dwarves too, Claira?" Vivienne asked.

"Opa and Heimdal were teaching me history. And Heimdal taught me numbers and letters." The little girl began to sniffle. Her mother squeezed her shoulder and the child somehow calmed herself. "He was a good tutor."

"Indeed he was, my love . Now wash up and we'll get something to eat." Splashing ensued for a moment before the pair settled in to scrub.

"Yes, Cassandra dear, your reunion with Varric was quite..." Vivienne began.

The Seeker glared at the smiling Mage, "Personal?"

"If you'd like it to stay personal, probably don't do it in front of everyone." Mira chuckled. "I'm pretty sure Cullen was standing with us just to get away from you two. Though I'm sure making him uncomfortable never gets old. How long has he been all blushing and stammering?"

"Since I've known him." Cassandra replied. "He hasn't always done that?"

"Yes, do tell. How do you know Cullen?" Vivienne asked.

"It was a long time ago, and we happened to be in Kirkwall at the same time. We, ah, frequented the same pub." Mira grinned and dunked her head to rinse her hair. "He's still very...strapping."

"That's what Irgaine thinks, too." Vivienne found her self sharing a tiny smirk with the Seeker. "I'm sure that's why they spend so much time together."

"Irgaine and Cullen? Are together? I would have thought it would be the other way around, just looking at you. You're all legs and blades, and Varric is just her type. I'd think, knowing her, she'd be with him, and Cullen with you, knowing him." Mira chuckled. "But the heart wants what it wants, I suppose."

Claira yawned, and Mira turned her smile on her daughter. "All done, baby? Ready to get something to eat?"

"I'm ready. Can we eat with Bull?" The little girl dried off and pulled on a dress, and her mother did the same. "I want to hear more about dragons."

Vivienne said, "Don't stay up too late, little one. We'll have a busy day tomorrow."

Claira nodded, but Mira turned to look at the Iron Lady. "Does that mean you'll continue to tutor her?"

"With her magics, certainly. We get on quite well, don't we dear? But I'd like to find a few others, to round out her education." Vivienne's got out of the tub to dry and dress as well.

"I don't know how to thank you." Mira said. "For everything. I mean it." She looked at the two women and bowed a little before ushering her daughter out.

"Isn't your water cold by now, Lady Pentaghast?" Vivienne stood over her shoulder. "And I'm sure you have a dinner engagement."

"I have. And it is." Cassandra said nothing else as she began to wash, so Madame de Fer left the room.

Silence reigned again as Cassandra put on her blue dress and some soft slippers, and crossed the gardens to go up the stairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're thinking, "Eff you, Whisky, where's my smut?"
> 
> Aren't you?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and sticking with me.
> 
> (I know I'm a shit, don't worry I'm working on it.)


	25. Something For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra and Varric, reunited at Skyhold. Finally.
> 
> A gift for you, dear reader. 
> 
> NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I offer you DAS SMOOT.
> 
> I tried to make it sexy without being too vulgar. As always, no beta, trying to be in character, I love comments and smartassery.
> 
> Also the discerning reader will find a Wheel of Time reference in here, but only if they have a mind like a steel trap.
> 
> Please, enjoy.

Two quick raps on the door, and Varric looked around his room again. He'd cleared off his desk, and lit some candles. There was a platter with some fruit and cheese, a cold, fresh pitcher of L'eau du Printemps sitting with two pewter mugs in a bucket of ice, and two wrapped goat pies, which he hoped were still warm. He'd never actually had a dinner date in his home before. He smiled to himself _(Huh. My home.)_ while he crossed the room and pulled open the door.

Maker, she was wearing the blue dress again and all he could think of was how he wanted her out of it. Cassandra's lips tilted up the little smile just for him and she stepped into the room. The door swung shut and she was quickly close, backing him up to the thick wooden frame, pressing her hands on the door and the wall with his head between them. Her eyes tilted down, and she brushed her lips to his forehead, his temple, his mouth. Varric twined his arms around Cassandra and slid his hands into her soft short hair, then pulled her head down for a searing kiss.

The Seeker moaned against him, pushing her body flush to his even as his tongue slipped into her mouth. He could feel her chest heaving against his, her breasts pushing in as they tried to devour each other. She pulled him away from the door and led him over to the fainting couch across the room. She broke away and looked down at it. "Do you know what this is, Varric? What it's for?"

"It's a hand-me-down. Belonged to my great uncle." He smirked as she sat in front of him on the purple velvet. It put them at eye level, but she leaned back onto her elbows and grinned lazily at him. He stood between her knees, the skirt of her dress pooling between them. "It's Nevarran. That's all I know."

"It's a fainting couch." Cassandra said, using her thighs to pull his hips to hers. The height and angle of the couch fit them perfectly together, and she sat back up and put her hands on his shoulders, to murmur in his ear, "It was used to treat what was called 'female hysteria.' Do you notice," she circled her hips into him and he groaned. "That it is a bit lower then a normal chaise?"

Varric could hear the blood rushing in his ears, rapidly fleeing to his nethers, and dragged his fingers down her thigh, pulling at the blue fabric to bring it up. He tilted his head and began to kiss her neck, her collarbone, before he replied, "I'm told it's Dwarven scale." 

"Mm yes, it is." She gasped as his teeth grazed her ear. "It's just right."

His fingers were sliding up her thigh when he paused and straightened. "Female hysteria? Are you telling me this is a _fucking_ couch?"

The Seeker's throaty chuckle sent a shiver down his spine, and her smile lit up her face. After a moment his hand continued dragging her hem up her leg, eventually slipping under the fabric and coming to rest on her bare hip. "No smalls tonight, Seeker?"

"Impractical, given my plans for this surface." The heat in her eyes nearly undid him. But he didn't want to rush things. The last time they'd been together was lovely, but this time he was shooting for spectacular. And so instead of flipping her over and taking her like a savage he breathed in hard through his nose and slowly moved his hand higher up her leg. 

"Plans?" His fingers trailed to the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs. They grazed at her while he looked into her eyes. "Do tell."

"I think it might be easier to show you." His thumb danced quickly between her folds to gently brush at her nub and she shuddered and scooted her hips closer to his hand. Her head fell back and he began to softly rub at it, swiping back and forth across it with tender strokes. She moaned his name when he plunged a finger into her, moisture already glistening on his palm.

His digit worked in and out, curling up. "Or maybe," he breathed as he leaned forward to trail gentle nips across her throat, "there are some things I'd like to show _you_." His hand suddenly sped up. She bit back a moan as he slid another finger in. "Don't hold back, Seeker, I want to hear you."

Her gasp was music to his ears, and she fell back on the purple velvet as he stroked her. Cassandra's hips undulated into his hand, rocking slowly. He watched as her face changed while his fingers moved. Her nails dug into the edge of the cushion and she moaned throatily as he pushed the fabric all the way up over her hips and knelt between her quivering thighs. His fingers kept moving, slowly, in and out, and he leaned forward and blew gently on her sex before dipping his neck and plunging his tongue inside.

The heady flavor of her made his pulse race. One of her hands twined into his hair while he moved his mouth, and he reached down to unlace the terribly tight strings of his trousers. And, Maker, the _sounds_ she was making, low and gutteral and entirely obscene. He couldn't resist a pleased groan with her as he brought her over the edge, grinning to himself as her back arched and she moaned his name.

Varric rested on his heels, and looked at Cassandra, blue skirts ruched up, head back, legs apart, boneless and satisfied before him. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth, took out his already destroyed ponytail, and asked, "Seeker, would you roll over for me?"

Her head snapped up and she gave him what could only be called a devilish smile. Without uttering a word she slumped to her knees on the ground in front of him, and turned over to rest her elbows on the couch. She pulled her hem up over her hips, and his pants fell to his boots. The tip of him grazed her and Cassandra whined and pushed back. Varric didn't hesitate to slide into her all the way to the hilt.

_"oh, yes....Varric!"_

Her voice was full of husky desperation, and his hips moved of their own volition, setting a bruising pace as he held on to her shoulder and fisted a hand in her hair. He tugged on it and Cassandra nearly roared with pleasure. "Yes," he rasped behind her, "that's it. I want to hear you. I want to know if I can make the Seeker scream."

She felt amazing wrapped around his cock, and her muscles tensed around him as he continued to speak, "Let them all hear you, Cassandra, I want Skyhold hear you say my name."

Cassandra would have done whatever he asked in that moment, blinded by pleasure and writhing with each thrust. The angle he took her at was nearly perfect, and he seemed to plunge deeper into her with every stroke until she could almost not bear it. It felt so good, so right, and while he slammed into her she felt a noise coming out of her throat, a high-pitched whine that she thought was scandalously loud, so much so she nearly buried her face in the cushion. But he'd said he wanted to hear her, was doing everything in his power to undo her and Maker, it was _working._

Every pulse of his cock inside her was punctuated by his voice. "Say. My. Name. Say. My. Name."

Cassandra surrendered to the fire in her veins, to the sound of Varric encouraging, practically begging her, and as she came she moaned, too loudly so that it echoed off the stones of his chamber walls, "Varric!"

His hips pumped once, twice, and he gave in as well, with a deep groan of her name. They stopped there for a moment, gasping in unison, before he slipped out and sat on the floor next to her. She was too sated to move, but turned her head and smiled at him possessively. "It's nice to see you, too, Varric."

"I hope that was a happy homecoming, Cassandra." He grinned back at her and looked down at his trousers, bunched around his boots, then over at her shapely bare ass.

She was surprised that she felt no shame, or shyness, so she said, "If you did not hear how happy I was, the only person you've failed is yourself."

He laughed and stood to right his clothing. "Have you eaten yet? There is a bit of a spread, here."

She eased herself shakily up, let the hem of her dress fall to her ankles again even as her stomach rumbled. "I have not." She admitted, and righted her bodice a bit before turning to place her arms around his neck. She kissed his temple and pulled him close. "That was excellent," she murmured. "I should like to return the favor, sometime."

Varric looked up at her and smirked, the one that made Cassandra's knees weaken, and said, "We've got all night, Seeker."

\---

The pitcher was damp with condensation as Cassandra poured them each a mug of ale. Varric unwrapped the cold meat pies and plucked the wedge of cheese from the platter, then set about shaving chunks off with a stray dagger from his desk. The cheese was sharp and white, and he cut the pies in half and stuffed them with it. Cassandra sipped her beer and settled into the striped armchair he'd pulled over to his desk from the corner, watching as he made two plates and set one in front of her. They ate in silence for awhile, Varric smiling at the appreciative sound she made at her first bite of pie.

When there was nothing left on their plates, Cassandra refilled their mugs. They enjoyed comfortable silence for awhile, candles flickering and a soft breeze blowing through the blanket over the eastern window. "Thank you for dinner, Varric." She said. 

"Anytime, Seeker. I know your trip was a taxing one." He put his feet up on the edge of the desk and leaned back to look at her. "As a Marcher my heart breaks for Ostwick. And I'm glad you found Gareth. Not just for Irgaine, but also because at least there will be a Bann to represent the city's surviving people."

"How did she take the news?"

"About as well as you'd expect. She was devastated. It pulled the rug out from under her. And immediately after that, she has to worry that Blackwall's disappearance will ruin us."

"Unlikely. He's probably just following up on some Warden business." "I don't know, Cassandra, I have a really bad feeling about it. And I think so does Irgaine. And what does it say that Leliana went with them?" Varric took a long slug off his beer. 

"Have you ever known Blackwall to be dishonest?" Cassandra refilled his cup, then took a drink from her own. "I myself have not."

"We've known him less than a year. Some folk can make the truth dance a fine jig." Varric gestured at himself.

"An excellent point." She paused and sipped at her beer for a minute. "Now that I think on it, I hate to consider that we have been misled all this time."

"It's an unpleasant train of thought, agreed." Varric picked up the pitcher but it was finally empty. "Maybe one we should table?"

"Yes. If that is empty, we could certainly head down to the Herald's rest for more."

His grin was sly. "Are you asking me out for a drink, Seeker?"

\---

Their arrival at the keep's tavern was timely, as Maryden was just beginning her nightly set of dancing reels. Varric collected their beverages at the well, and a tray of sips of Uager for good measure, after he watched Cassandra settle on the bench between the Bull and Krem, Dorian on the huge Qunari's other side. A small pile of silver clattered on the bar as he walked towards them. When Varric arrived with the drinks, Bull was pointing at the Seekers embroidered bodice. "Is that..off center?"

"Would you have a comment if it were?" She smiled and slapped his wide grey hand away from her chest lightly and absolutely did not adjust anything, instead grabbing a sip and shooting it as if it were water. 

The dwarf handed the tray to Krem without another word, and took Cassandra's hand in his. "Dance with me?"

Marydens lute was merry, and there were already some couples starting the Shamrock on the floor. She eyed Varric askance. "I don't know this one."

"Sure you do. It's easy as pie." He was pulling her towards the dancers and she was scuttled between him, and Dorian and Bull as they joined the dance as well, and so she was given almost no choice as the music swelled and she was swept breathlessly into Varric's arms and what was an easy pattern of _leftrightleft rightleftright_ around and around, until her cheeks were flushed and his brow glistened. She was not a woman given to such indulgences, and had forgotten that dancing could be so much fun.

The song ended, and another struck up. She lost count of how many reels they did, how many sips she took, but on Varric's arm she was so happy it did not matter. 

\---

The bells rang sixth when they finally left the tavern. It was a beautiful night, and the stars twinkled in the sky as they walked through the courtyard together hand in hand. Cassandra paused at the door of the smithy. "Thank you, Varric, for a lovely evening."

"Is it suddenly over?" He chuckled. "I thought we were here to get you a change of clothes."

"You assume much, dwarf." She started up the stairs, but there was no heat in her tone. When they arrived in her loft, he looked around and smiled. Her travel gear was neatly put together in the corner, the desk cleared of papers. She went to rummage through her pack. "We are here because I have something for you."

"Maker, yes, yes you do."

"Ugh." Varric noticed how the normal disgusted noise held a note of affection, and unashamedly admired her backside while she searched her gear. She popped up with two paper bags that were slightly oily and crinkled and handed them to him.

"Are these...?" He opened one bag and the smell hit him. "Candied almonds? From Kirkwall?"

"Yes. I bought them just before we boarded ship."

"I may have mentioned these once. You remembered?" 

"I did. You talked about them while we were on the Storm Coast. So I brought you some." She smiled at him and set about closing up her bags. She stood, and knuckled her back before turning to face him. "You like them, yes?" 

"I love them. And you're extremely thoughtful. Thank you!" He pulled one out and bit into it, then sighed appreciatively. "Maker, that's the stuff."

While he munched he watched her rummage through the trunk under the window, and pull out a clean tunic and trousers. He eyed her askance, and Cassandra said, "Did you not say I would want a change of clothes?" He paused in his snacking to stare at her. When he didn't answer, she asked in a smaller voice, "Unless you do not wish it?"

"I was chewing. And I would be upset if you didn't." He put down the bag of almonds and crossed the room to her while brushing his hands off on each other. "Seeker."

He put one arm around her waist, and reached up to cup her cheek. "Wanna spend the night with me, Seeker?"

Her kiss said

_makerpleaseyes_

\---

Maker's fucking balls, the woman was amazing. Her mouth, her hands, everywhere on him as soon as he shut the door. That was how Varric found himself stripped and squirming while Cassandra still wore her cornflower blue dress, his hands in her hair as she laved his cock. "Ah, fuck, Seeker, how long have you been thinking about this?"

Her reply was a long, slow, suck, and a feral glance up into his eyes. He let his head fall back, and for a few scandalous minutes she paid him the best kind of attention. Nothing in Thedas compared to her hot wet mouth, and for some reason, she seemed to have his number in such a way that he couldn't contain the throaty moans she was eliciting. _Sweet, generous Maker, The Seeker has her mouth on me._

She released him, and reared back on her knees to look at him. "Shall I finish this?"

"Cassandra..." Varric growled. His eyes were wild, and dark, and desperate. "Take off your dress."

She got up off the bed and reached for the ties of her bodice. "Slowly or quickly?" 

Her wicked smirk nearly drove him over the edge. _"Now."_

The Seeker pulled a haze of blue cotton over her head, and flung it away, and she stood before him, bare as birth, and in beautiful contrast in the moonlight streaming in around the windows. Varric took in a breath as his cock surged, and Cassandra crawled back onto the bed, up his legs, and then leaned up and over his body. Her skin brushed his, tantalizing and teasing, the tips of her breasts grazing his thighs, his hip, and along his torso. She captured his lips with hers while she ran her hands through the soft curling hair on his thickly muscled chest.

"I want to be inside you," his breath hitched. 

She reared back proudly and hummed. "You will say my name, this time."

"Andraste's tits, Seeker, please!"

Cassandra lowered herself onto him without ceremony, drawing a low growl from his throat. Varric's fingers dug into her thighs, sure to leave bruises, guiding her roughly into a canter, her rhythm stopping and starting because Maker, the way her filled her up was amazing. He had both hands on her hips, then one slid up to grasp her hand while the other wove between them to where they joined. His thumb brushed her nub while she rode him, and she keened for him, her fingers tightening around his, and putting her long, muscular legs to their best use.

She reached down with her loose hand to brush his arm out from between her thighs, and settled on top of him, her golden breasts bouncing in his face. He couldn't resist them, grabbing both and desperately licking and sucking at her taut nipples. It made her muscles clench around him beautifully, and now they were both lost to passion, caught up in each other and the blinding pleasure they created. Sighs and moans were punctuated with desperate pleas for more, harder, faster. They brought each other to a fever pitch, sweat pooling between them.

Varric reached up and pulled Cassandra's mouth down to his. Their tongues warred while his legs wound under her, somehow rolling her onto her back to drive into her as fast as he could. Her hands were in his hair, and she dragged her nails down his scalp and his back in one long stroke. 

It was all he could take. _"Cassandra."_

The way her said her name, filthy and reverent, brought her over the edge right after him. Her whole body tightened around his as he spent into her. They didn't move, panting, for a long moment. She smirked up, and said, "I have been thinking about this for a long time."

He couldn't form words just then, so he looked down into her eyes and did not bother to mask his adoration, instead pressing a tender kiss to her lips, inhaling her scent, the scent of them together. He broke away to see his heart reflected in her gaze. Varric pulled her over, so they lay on their sides, and pressed his head into the crook of her neck while she pulled a sheet over them. They rested a few minutes, until Varric finally said, "Maker, Seeker, I'm yours if you'll have me."

Her soft chuckle brought one out of him, too, after she said, "I believe I just did."

"I mean it, I think you just ruined me."

"You did the same to me before dinner." She nuzzled in closer and nipped at his ear. "Kiss me awake in the morning?"

"Any morning."

Cassandra shrugged onto her back, and Varric followed, gave the closest breast a small kiss. She rolled her eyes and chuckled as he settled himself over her, with his head on her chest and his arm over her waist. It was not long before both fell into a sated and exhausted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sometimes try the Hemingway technique while I write. I mean actual Whisky (hence the name) and sometimes, as in the first scene of this chapter it pays off in many ways. In this case I found a hilarious note I left myself after three shots of Jack:
> 
> "Hey don't publish this without Cass blowing Varric then riding him until he's her bitch"
> 
> Do you think it worked?
> 
> Thanks again for reading and sticking with me. I appreciate all of you, and your comments inspire me to keep going.


	26. Lovely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyhold. Smut and Plot. 
> 
> NSFW

Cullen strapped into his armor, and peered with dismay at the mess that was the top of his desk. There were a few piles, one large one of requisition reports for Cassandra, missives from the Free Marches that were supposed to be sent to Varric, and some of Leliana's Fereldan correspondence he had yet to look through. He sighed and sat down to read them, as Jim would be arriving shortly with more from the morning's first crop of messenger birds.

The eastern door of his office swung open _(think of Maferath and he appears)_ and the Nightingale's personal messenger came into the room holding a sheaf of vellum. "More from the Marches, Ser. And some personal correspondence."

"Thank you. That will be all."

The man dipped his head, just low enough to hide his eyes beneath the green cowl of his uniform. "Begging your pardon, Ser."

"Yes?" Cullen murmured as he sorted through more of the mess.

"Sister Nightingale often has me read and summarize her reports for her. Saves time, she says. I've been instructed by her to extend my services to you, in her absence."

The Commander looked up at him, surprise playing across his face. "I would appreciate that. I've no head for the Game."

"You play chess. I can work with that. She did also suggest you consult Master Tethras with further questions." Jim shifted his feet and looked up. "Shall I report?"

"Please."

"The Marcher countryside between the remains of Ostwick and Kirkwall have been flooded by surviving refugees. The Vicomte of Kirkwall has pushed out more than refugees by raising the chains. Sister Nightingale has tasked Master Tethras with finding the artisans and craftspeople among the displaced." He continued, "The scouts that were sent to contain the Red Templar camp at Daerwin's Mouth report some success, but request a small squad to assist while they wait for the Inquisitor. They've found a rift on the path to the camp, and neither they nor the Reds can leave. And there is a letter from the King for Leliana."

"You said it was personal correspondence?"

"It seems to be, Ser."

"Then let us keep it that way. Or perhaps take it to Josephine. Any missive from a King is not to be ignored, but I would prefer not to be the one to open it." He wrote a short note, and handed it to Jim. "You'll be seeing her next, I assume?"

"Yes, Ser, if there's nothing more you need."

"Send me two runners, thank you. Dismissed."

Jim bowed and exited through the south door while Cullen tied string around the sorted piles of vellum. It was a few minutes before the messengers arrived, and he used those to work on the next guard rotation schedule, before sending the papers to the smithy and the desk near the door of the Great Hall.

\---

Hawke woke up in the Barracks, a little worse for wear after a night of sips and Diamondback. Wejes really was a thrice-damned card shark, and he vaguely remembered calling it a night after she won his shirt. He looked down, and sure enough it was gone. He sighed and sat up, swinging his feet to the floor and reaching for his boots. It was kind of Aurelie to let him crash in Bigg's bunk. She'd said, "Now Lucy can claim she shared a bed with the Champion of Kirkwall."

It was a good deal funnier when he was drunk. His lack of humor was certainly caused by the ringing of blood in his ears, and the pounding in his temples. He stumbled out of the small bunkroom and shut the door behind him. A few steps away was the door to the outside. The mountain sun was much too bright, and it was a breezy morning for being without a tunic. He took a deep drink of water from one of the wells that dotted the path back inside the keep, and the combination of cold, wet and sunny seemed to hit him all at once, slapping him awake. He patted his chest, and searched his pockets for coin or a waterskin. Finding neither, he paused at the well and took one more mugful before he moved on.

The two dwarves guarding the door to the keep proper smirked at each other at the sight of him. Hawke said, "At least I still have my pants." They laughed and saluted, fists over their hearts, before opening the heavy double doors.

\---

The pair of them had somehow become a jumble of limbs as they slept, arms under each other's heads, his legs around her waist, entangled and warm. Varric's broad palm cupped one breast and Cassandra's hands twined around him, one on his ass, her chin atop his head. They slowly breathed in unison, and looked entirely happy together as Hawke crept into the room to find another change of clothing. 

_(Well someone had a good night.)_ Hawke thought. There was a small pile of his clothing on the floor next to his couch, and another, neatly folded, on the striped chair in the corner. He grabbed the tan tunic from the pile, looked one last time at the sleeping couple, and quietly opened the door to find not one but two Inquisition agents walking along the balustrade toward him. He pulled it shut as silently as he could, just in time to stop the pair from getting an eyeful. _(Thank me later, trusty dwarf.)_

"Good morning, gentlemen! Is there something I can do for you?"

One stammered, "s-Ser Hawke, is Master Tethras available? Or have you seen the Lady Seeker?"

"Not at all, gentlemen, but I'll be happy to take those packages for you."

The two men hesitated, clutching the papers closer to their chests. Hawke continued, "Let me put it this way. If the Lady Seeker isn't in there, she wouldn't appreciate your speculation that she was. And if the Lady Seeker _is_ in there, she wouldn't appreciate anyone who started any rumors. Not to mention, a brassed-off Seeker probably means a snarky dwarf. Do you really want to be the ones responsible for that?" The Champion plucked the papers from their grips and shooed them away. "Off with you, and someone tell the Commander his" he glanced down "requisition forms are safely locked in Varric's room."

The pair of guards looked at each other and dashed away, barely containing their laughter until they were out of earshot.

Hawke went back into the room and set the papers down with a note. 

_Messengers dropped these off for both of you. You're adorable. Lunch at the Rest later? -H_

He grabbed his new bar of soap and a towel, and headed down to the baths.

\---

"You're saying, Cassandra's requisition forms are locked in _Varric's_ quarters?" The two messengers nodded, smiling as the Commander chuckled. "That's...excellent news."

The south door opened again and Mira poked her head in. "What's excellent news?"

"There's new gossip, and I heard it first. I never hear it first. Dismissed." All three men laughed aloud, and the two soldiers saluted and left through the eastern door. "Hello Mira, how are you? What brings you here?"

"I am quite well, Cullen, thank you. And I am here to discuss a matter of some importance, if you have the time."

"Oh, come in, Mira, it can't be that bad." She frowned a little at that and pushed the door shut behind her as he said, "Come, sit, there's only the one chair."

Instead, she moved stacks of papers on one side of the desk, and perched herself on it, feet crossed in front of her, and her elbows on her knees. "You take it. I'd think you'll want to be seated for this."

"Um." He was instantly uncomfortable, and sat with a hand on the back of his neck. "What is this about?"

"You remember, I hope, the time we spent together before I left Kirkwall?" A soft smile grazed her lips as she remembered. "Those two months where you came to me almost every night?"

He certainly did remember the nights of laughter, punctuated by feral sex, sips of brandy, and card games, that often ended with him stumbling out of her chamber after the sixth bell, just in time to wash up before the day's first prayers. "It would be difficult to forget. You were...breathtaking." He smiled with her and gestured for her to continue. 

Mira took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "I left the city because I found out I was pregnant, and my aunt offered to shelter me in Ostwick, offered me work after I had the child."

Cullen felt air leave his lungs in a rush, and was suddenly glad he was seated. His hands gripped the arms of his chair, knuckles white. "What are you saying to me right now, Mira?"

She leaned forward and placed her palms on top of his hands, peered into his eyes, and said, "I am very certain that Claira is your daughter."

\---

Cullen followed Mira out the door and through the rotunda, then out and around to the stairs to Vivienne's balcony. Multicolored bubbles drifted down over the railing, then glided in an arc up and over the heads of the courtiers and visiting dignitaries to drift out the open tops of the stained glass windows over the Inquisitor's Andrastian throne. They both heard Vivienne's voice echoing down the stairs as she said, "That was lovely, my dear. Shall we try again with something a bit heavier?"

Vivienne looked a bit bemused, and smiled down fondly at her pupil before she saw the blond pair round the top landing. "Ah, Commander, Mira. Have you come to observe the lesson?"

"Well," he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "We haven't. We've come to, ah--"

"Do you know a spell that can prove whether people are related?" Mira asked breathlessly.

Vivienne's eyes widened at that, and she looked back and forth from Claira to Cullen thoughtfully. Finally, she reached out and put a hand on Cullen's shoulder, and one on Claira's. Her hands glowed softly green for a moment and she gasped. "Sometimes, it seems to me that Thedas is a small place."

"It's true then?" Cullen asked.

The girl cleared her throat. "I'm standing right here. What do you mean, related?." Claira crossed her arms over her chest, and looked at her mother expectantly.

Mira and Cullen looked at each other once, and then she knelt down to look her daughter in the eyes. "Baby, this is... Commander Cullen is your father."

The little blonde creature peered up at the Commander. "Alright. I guess. I don't see why that's so important."

Cullen barked a laugh. "That's not what I expected you to say."

"Well, what did you expect me to say?" Claira blinked up at him with familiar gold-flecked brown eyes.

"I don't know. Not that." He looked at Mira and his daughter (his _daughter! _) and said, "Would you ladies consent to dinner, this evening?"__

When Claira smiled up at him, he recognized it as his own. They agreed to a meal after Fourth, when he was done with his duties, and the child with her lessons, and he found himself oddly exhilarated and poleaxed at the same time. He realized, after discussing dinner, that he hadn't eaten yet. 

That was how Cullen ended up at one of the long wooden tables inside the Herald's Rest, with a plate piled with two huge pieces of gilded chicken, a roasted cob of corn, and some kind of mashed root vegetable from Orlais. It wasn't half bad, either, when mixed with butter and chives. He sipped from his mug of Pale and tucked into a most comforting meal.

He had to admit to himself that ten years ago, he didn't think much about Mira leaving Kirkwall. He'd just assumed she'd got bored with him and moved on to greener pastures. Kirkwall was an unsavory place even in the better times, and he couldn't blame her for wanting to leave in the slightest. But to think, after all this time, to find out that she'd gone so as not to burden him with a child? That was how she'd explained it to him, that the bastard of a whore and a Templar in Kirkwall would starve, whereas, with her Aunt, Bann Trevelyan's longtime mistress, mother of his legitimized daughter, the child would be safe, sheltered, educated. He could not fault Mira very much for never telling him, either. What would the information have done besides hurt him? Would he have believed her?would it have sent it him haring off after her? That would have spelled trouble for everyone involved, especially Claira.

And so the Maker showed his hand to Cullen again, this time bringing him something he'd never thought to hope for, in a four foot tall little girl with his eyes and his curling blonde hair and his smile. Bringing it in the packaging of a not-so-helpless child, (who when he saw her again in his mind eye was, in fact, the very picture of Mia at her age,) a little girl who was also a Mage. Because _of course she was._ Because mages still appeared in his nightmares, haunted his withdrawals. Because, he realized, it wasn't sex that was the problem, it was _love._

He'd once loved the idea of being a Templar. He'd loved his swords, his family. When he joined the Order, he learned to love the Maker, and the brotherhood of arms. Kinloch Hold had hollowed those feelings out of him, nearly destroying him. It was true he was not proud of the man he was in Kirkwall; even the assignation with Mira only filled the emptiness so much. He'd sought solace in her embrace, and found it to a degree, but it was not love. He suspected she knew that, too. More reason to leave. And then the Red Lyrium Sword, and Meredith. He was so wrapped up in his own personal destruction that he'd been blind to her descent into madness. When Cassandra approached him, he realized it was Andraste opening a door.

So Cullen walked through. Gave up Lyrium, survived the withdrawals, tried to become a better man. He loved his work, now, and he was calmer, more in control of himself. His time with Irgaine taught him that he could forgive himself for not caring, not doing the right thing, after what had happened to him. Perhaps the divine providence that was Claira would help teach him to forgive others. It could only be a holy touch that would bring him together with Mira in Kirkwall, and then with her cousin ten years later. And with his own child, no less.

The Maker brought him something more to fight for, and he found himself bewildered and grateful.

\---

Dorian bit into his chicken, and decided that it was entirely worth the trip to the tavern for his meal. Cabot had enthusiastically embraced the notion of cooking things in fat, and was coming up with all different kinds of gilded fare. But the chicken was done particularly well, and had become a weekly favorite with the residents of the keep in his absence. It had improved markedly during his trip to Orlais with Sera, where they'd thwarted an assassination attempt on a village baker, who was the hub of the Red Jenny network in that part of the country. He sat to lunch before the midday crowd shuffled in. Soon enough, the tavern was full of people jostling each other in line, or juggling plates and napkins. What started out as a meal alone on the second floor turned into the unlikely group of Dorian, Threnn, Grim, and Maryden, who all ate in silence. It wasn't just because the food was so good. 

Grim finished eating first, and got up with a short bow. He eyed Dorain, who nodded as the man retreated. Threnn and Maryden finished their ales simultaneously, and the bard stood with her mug in her hand. She'd walked as far as the top of the stairs when Grim appeared again, holding a pewter pitcher. He held it to her mug and filled it, returning to the table to fill Threnn's, then Dorian's, then his own, before holding his up over the table.

They tapped their drinks together, and Dorian cleared his throat and said, "Generally, the fee for a pitcher is a story. If someone would like to tell one."

Maryden chuckled. "I might know one or two. What kind of story?"

Grim smiled at her, sort of, and grunted what might have been a fake laugh.

"A funny story?" Asked Threnn. Grim nodded sagely. "Well, I'm no bard, but I know a funny story. Would you like to hear about the time Loghain found a badger in his saddlebags?"

\---

Cullen was still trapped in his thoughts as the volume level on the second floor increased. Dorian had somehow got Threnn to tell a story about Loghain (he absolutely did not listen with interest, nor did he chuckle at the mental image) and then Maryden started telling the backstory about the widow and her goat. He watched as the people at the surrounding tables joined the fun. One of his men began to speak when Cole appeared at his side.

"I was going to come sit with you, and then I didn't need to. I thought you'd like to know."

Cullen blinked. "Thank you."

"Forgiveness is a powerful thing. I'm glad you can feel it, instead of the other. The rage is still in there, but you fight it against the dummies."

"It gets better with time. Many things do." Cullen stood, and gathered his empty plate, tankard, and napkin, and looked under the brim of the boy's hat. "You came to help."

"I did." Cole replied, suddenly meaning more than just this moment, before disappearing. Cullen put his dishes in the tubs near the door, and walked out into the bright midday sun.

\---

It was warm where Cassandra slept. Warm, and soft. It smelled of sweat and leather and parchment and sex and Varric. She hummed contentedly and pulled him closer, even as his legs tightened around her waist. His nose nuzzled against her jaw and his hand trailed up her bare side to grasp her head and brush their lips together. She deepened the kiss but kept her eyes closed, and protested with a little whine when he pulled away and tucked his head back under her chin.

Not to be deterred, Cassandra rolled her hips into his and lightly scratched at his scalp. Varric practically purred as she slowly dragged her short nails gently down his back. "Mm, Seeker, keep doing that." She grazed against him again and he growled. "And that. Keep doing that."

Soon his hand had slipped between them and he slid a thumb around her slick folds and gently rubbed a swath across her nub. She moaned and pulled him on top of her, settling his hips between hers and slowly stroking him with one hand while the other scratched lazy trails on his thigh. There was no resistance as he slid inside her, and she gasped at the sudden completion. Her eyes flew open to meet his, and she rolled them back at his second thrust, maybe a little scandalized at the smug expression on his face.

Varric's head dipped while he moved, teasing and nipping at her breasts and belly and Cassandra writhed beneath him, meeting each roll of his hips with one of her own. He murmured, "Seeker...you...."

"Shh.." Her arms and legs wrapped him up and she urged him on with her sighs and moans, her hands on his ass, her muscles pulsing around him. Things sped up, and soon sweat pooled between them as their hips smacked together. Her voice trembled as she said, "Harder, Varric, please."

He pulled her legs from around his waist and pinned her knees down on the bed next to her sides. He reared back up to his knees and began to snap his hips into hers in a series of deep staccato thrusts. It was marvelous, and he pushed her limits, faster and harder, as she moaned helplessly. Her back arched and she let him drive her over the edge, surrendering to him even as he followed with a soft cry and fell across her abdomen, panting.

They lay still, a few moments, before Varric rolled off of Cassandra, draping an arm across her. He sighed, "That was....wow, Seeker."

She hummed and stretched. "Lovely."

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoy the hell out of getting into Cullen's headspace. Some of the things he says in game make me headcanon that he believes the Maker has a grand plan, and touches people's lives individually. If it feels a little loose, it's meant to be somewhat stream of consciousness. I hope it succeeded.
> 
> So who knew who Claira's father was? I planted a few hints here and there. How does he cope? Do they become friends? I hope it all wasn't to hand-wavey, but I didn't want to do too much wailing and gnashing of teeth.
> 
> I think that maybe Vivienne loved Claira in the moment where she said, "I don't see why that's important."
> 
> And you know, a little V/C smut as a palate cleanser.
> 
> Questions, comments? You know what to do. Thanks for reading!


	27. An Odd Kind Of Courtship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well hello again gentle reader! Miss me?;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, you guys, it's plot. Welcome to a big assed update.

Leliana followed Corporal Bigg down the mountain on a matching pair of mated red Harts. She smiled at the dame, who nipped at the heels of the stag to hustle it down the slope. The stag was pointedly ignoring her and steering down the trail in his own time. The Nightingale chuckled to herself before getting lost in her thoughts again.

_I have been unworthy, Maker, and I have hurt those closest to me with my caprice. I should have gone to Josie, last night, and spoken to her instead of following my loins into the stables. What a fool I have been..._ She held in a sigh and ducked under a branch of evergreen. They were under the treeline and Leliana was grateful for the shield from the brilliant mountain sun. _I should not have left her so, alone and feeling forgotten. I'd hoped it would be easier, making a clean break, but I fear...I fear she is lost to me forever._

The trail widened into a packed dirt road. "Lucy," Irgaine's clear voice rang out from behind her, "See what's ahead, will you?"

The red stag looked almost relieved as Bigg spurred him forward. Leliana pulled back on her reins and the dame looked up at her admonishingly while Irgaine pulled her Forder up to ride alongside. The Herald put her hand on Leliana's arm and asked, "If you'd like to talk about it?"

"There is very little to say, but that I am a foolish woman." Lełiana shrugged. "I have made a mess, and I am sorry. That is all."

"Is there something I can do for you?" Irgaine had never seen the woman even pause before, and to see her introspective and maybe a little sad was concerning. "Will you be alright if we run into trouble on the way?"

She reached up and patted Strife over her shoulder. "Perhaps a bit of violence would be therapeutic. And I have the lovely Herald of Andraste to protect me."

Irgaine snorted. "Why do I think it more likely that you'll protect me?" 

Leliana laughed. "Because old age and treachery will always defeat youth and skill. I've done this a time or two."

"Wow, Sister, you must be _old._ "

"Don't press your luck, _daughter."_ Her smile faded as she let the dame catch up to the buck, Irgaine's soft laughter following her.

\---

Cassandra nudged Varric's arm off her belly gently and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, and letting the sheet fall to her waist, revealing the expanse of scarred golden skin on her back. She carded a hand through her hair and yawned while Varric rolled over to his side, idly tracing a finger over the curve of her ass and up her spine. She shivered and turned. "Keep that up and we won't get out of bed."

"Sounds terrible." He murmured as he scooted towards her. His arms curled around her waist, and he sighed as he snuggled closer. "Stay with me."

"There are packages on your desk." She said, looking down at him. His hair was mussed on one side, and his stubble was quite dark. She ran a hand over his chin while he smirked up at her. Cassandra reflected it was a good thing she was sitting down, because it weakened her knees. "Do not tempt me, dwarf."

He grabbed her wrist and kissed her palm, before letting go, then sat up next to her. "Later."

"Ugh," she grunted fondly and threw the sheet over his head, tangling him in it, then stood and went to the chair in the corner while he laughed and tried to unravel himself. He heard her sigh and heard the crinkle of vellum. "Hawke was here. He left a note."

Varric's head popped out of the linens, and he grinned at her as he blatantly ogled her nude form. "What are the packages?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically, before peering at the stacks of paper. She untied the red ribbons around them and sifted through a few. "Correspondence from Kirkwall and Wycome for you, and requisitions for me." 

"Well, if the ink is dry, it's a safe bet half of Skyhold knows you spent the night here." He disentangled himself from the bed, and crawled out of it, scooping up his trousers from the floor. "We're going to catch some shit."

Her head snapped up to look at him, and her eyes narrowed, glittered. She said, "Is that right?" Cassandra dragged her leggings on as she said, "I have already fielded questions from Madame de Fer, and managed to leave her speechless." 

"Seriously, Seeker?" He whistled as he laced up his breeches and crossed to his trunk for a fresh shirt. His voice was muffled as he rummaged through it, but he continued, "What did she say?"

"It's a rather serious conversation, though she was right when she said it was one we should have."

\---

Andraste's holy painted toenails, having access to a bath whenever he wanted was going to spoil him. Hawke sighed and submerged himself under the surface of the steaming water. When he came up for air, he lathered up and began to wash.

He began to think on what his somewhat public (because everything about the Inquisition was public) reappearance might mean for Kirkwall. The chains were up, and there was a great deal of political maneuvering both to raise them and then to bring them back down again It implied that at least the Viscount had control of the city, if there wasn't anything he could do about the countryside. The rest of the Marches were a shambles after the destruction of Ostwick, with half its citizens descending on any town with a dock. Civil war in Orlais and the dissolution of most Circles eliminated the possibility of another Exalted March, and the Queen of Ferelden was missing. If he wanted to reappear with virtually no consequences, now would be the time.

But did he? Did he really want to get dragged into yet another battle with Corypheus? What would it mean for Merrill? Bela would just take her ship out to the seas of Antiva, but Merrill was still inside the city. Would the Vicomte somehow use her to get to him? There was certainly no love lost there. Or perhaps he could go and rescue her...

Hawke's mind wandered into a daydream of him as the dashing hero, and the lovely Dalish elf as his damsel in distress. He found it quite a pleasant way to bathe. He rinsed himself, and pulled the plug from the drain. He dried and dressed and rubbed the towel on his head, then slung it around his neck and exited through the archway, then out the heavy wooden door to the gardens. He squinted under the afternoon sun until he reached the hanging plants under the balustrade. His vision adjusted, and he headed out to the great hall, and took a seat the the large armchair behind Varric's desk.

Someone had started a small fire in the hearth, and he grabbed the book of Dalish folk tales he'd found in the Rotunda and began to read. His stomach rumbled, but he could sit for half an hour or so to see if the trusty dwarf appeared. The section he'd left off on was a collection of Andruil's tales, and it would be enough of a distraction while he waited.

\---

Varric laughed. He rolled on the supple weave of his expensive Orlesian rug and roared until tears flowed from his eyes, hands hugging his sides because they were beginning to hurt. Cassandra watched him, entirely perplexed by his reaction. "Ugh." She grunted as she tied her breast band. "It is not a joke."

"Yes," he howled, "Yes it is!" Varric hiccuped violently and spasmed up to a seated position. While he wiped the wetness from his eyes, Cassandra pulled a white tunic over her head and deftly laced the strings behind her. He chortled, "The Maker's biggest joke is on me, I swear."

"I don't think Nevarran Mortalitasi coming to assassinate you are remotely that hilarious." She sniffed. "Simply because of me. I do not care about being exiled from my family, but I do care to keep your head attached to your shoulders. It is not funny."

"It is if you're me, Seeker. Does your family plan to marry you off to some rich nobleman?"

"Not since I broke my last suitor's arm."

His laugh was warm, rich, and charming. "I believe you."

\---

A few hours later, They were sprawled out with their paperwork, Cassandra on the bed and Varric at his desk. Quills scratched occasionally, a bit more often in Varric's case, and occasionally one or the other would get up to get a drink or leave for the privy. Time passed amicably. After a while, Cassandra commented, "I find I have gotten quite a lot done, Varric. Are you nearly finished?"

He held up one hand while he kept writing with the other for a long moment. He looked up sheepishly. "Sorry. I think I'll be quite some time." He signed the letter and sanded it dry. "And I need to speak to Curly and Ruffles about some of it."

"Ah. Well I won't intrude further, then." She uncrossed her legs and began to gather her papers. There was a whole pile that only required a signature, and another with some notes she'd made, where to find things in certain parts of the Hinterlands and Fallow Mire. She would ordinarily pass these on to Leliana; her people found them invaluable when sent to find resources. She thought maybe she could take them to Cullen on her way to find dinner.

"I hope you know you're not intruding. It's nice, to have you in the room." He flashed a quick grin at her as he opened a chest to file his letters. "Someone beautiful to look at when I get stuck."

"Flatterer."

"And occasional historian. I'm capable of telling the truth."

The Seeker laughed. "You are quite capable, indeed."

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "What are you trying say, Seeker?"

"I am not trying to say anything," she smiled and stood up. "I merely said you were capable." Cassandra crossed the room to him and leaned over to kiss his cheek before she went to the door. "I need to go see Cullen myself. Come and find me later?"

"How could I not? I think you'll have a hard time being rid of me." She grinned a bit and shut it behind her quietly and he sat back at his desk, quill in hand.

\---

A few days passed with no word from the a Inquisitor, and Cullen began to seek ways to assuage his worries. One evening, he dined at the tavern (Marcher fish stew) and decided to cut through the keep to get back to his office to avoid the biting wind. He was in the grand ballroom under the Great Hall when he noticed one of the doors pushed open, and the soft pink glow of someone's magelight drifting out. He strode over with purpose and peered inside.

Inside the room the walls were lined with shelves, full to bursting with very old books. He scanned the titles, eyebrows raising a bit, before he settled on the person sitting in the chair in the middle of the room, glowing orb suspended over her small blonde head. "What are you doing down here?"

Claira shrieked in surprise, and raised her hand to put up an ice wall. Cullen summoned his Silence to smother it, and found it did not work, but it was enough to startle her into recognition. She pulled back on her magic and stood up. "I'm so sorry! You scared me!"

"Oh, no, I must apologize. I should not have tried to Silence you." He looked a bit sheepish, but his eyes dropped to the book in her hand. " _Elise and the Land of Wonder_? One of my favorites, when I was about your age."

"I've never read it before, but I like it so far. Did you ever read _Adventures of the Black Fox_?"

So began an odd kind of courtship between the pair. The next week or so they would find each other at times; she would bring him breakfast and sit with him for an hour while he heard reports, or he would send Jim with flowers for her. They played chess in the garden one afternoon, and he was pleased with her skill at it. When he asked where she learned, he held her hand while she cried a little and talked about her Opa. 

It seemed that Luther had taken a shine to the child, and educated her on strategy and military history, as much as she could grasp. She was well-versed in the histories of the Blights, especially the most recent one. Apparently she'd heard stories on Loghain's knee, when she was very small, and had become interested in the strategies of battle, which she'd pestered the Bann about until he'd relented and begun to teach her. The child was stubborn, and persistent, two things she shared with her father. Cullen began to further her education, reading aloud to her from the books on his shelf in the evenings, under the tree near the tavern while Cassandra whomped at her dummies and snuck grins at him.

Claira climbed up the stairs to the parapets one morning, carrying a basket with a flagon of red floral tea, sausage, fried eggs and rolls, and kicked open Cullen's office door after Second bell, taking a place in the line of messengers and soldiers. As it progressed, the sound of the Commander's rumbling stomach punctuated the voices of his visitors, until the little girl made it to the front of the line. 

She smiled up at him and set the tray on his desk. "Good morning, Ser."

Cullen replied, "Hello, young lady." The two of them were careful not to address each other by name or title, still feeling out the newness of their relationship, so he was _Ser_ and she was _young lady_ , and they'd taken breakfast together now every day for a week. She pulled up the long-legged stool he'd had brought in for her, and sat next to him at his desk, busying herself making him a plate and a cup of tea, which she passed to him as he looked up at the next man in line, and said, "Report."

"Urgent missive from Her Worship, Commander." The man handed the sealed envelope over, and Cullen nodded. The man turned and left, and Cullen opened the letter while he sipped. As he read he began to cough and sputter, and Claira clapped him on the back, waving off his guards.

"Is it bad?" The girl asked.

"Bad enough. I'll have plenty to do for the next few days." He began to quickly plan in his mind, who would care for what, how to implement the changes. He lost himself in preparation for a moment, and did not notice the girl piling his plate higher. "Jim?" He called out towards the northern door. The man appeared, after a moment. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to go find Seeker Pentaghast."

"Yes, Ser." The man replied, before disappearing through the next door. Cullen turned to Claira, then, and said, "Do you think you could stop by Mater Tethras' desk on your way down to your mother? And ask him to come up?"

"I will," she said, stuffing a roll with eggs and meat. She pointed to the plate and gave him a fair approximation of a commanding stare. He suppressed a smile while she said, "Make sure you eat."

"Yes ma'am."

\---

_Varric was walking through Val Royeaux, counting the paving stones on the street. He pushed open a great blue door, and went down the stairs into the cells, which smelled of mildew and piss and unwashed people. His perspective was different, he realized with a start, and the mark on his hand flickered sharply. He winced and looked down._

_He counted the pavers again as they stood in front of the gallows. He could hear Leliana's sharp intake of breath as Blackwall ascended the stairs and spoke, felt the pain in his left hand again, felt himself follow the women to their knees as the Nightingale whispered of failure and smoothed her face to blankness._

_back in the cells, face to face with not-Blackwall, killer of children_

Someone was shaking his arm, and he started awake, sitting up quickly at his desk. "Andraste's ass!"

Claira glared at him. "Language." She said mock-severely, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her chin. "Remember, I'm nine."

Varric wiped the drool off his face with his kerchief and pretended to glare right back. "I'm sure you've heard worse. What do you want?"

"The Commander wants to see you. He says there's a lot to do." She grinned. "Maybe while you're up there you can grow a proper beard."

He rolled his eyes playfully at her and stood up. "Unlikely. Will you ever stop teasing me?"

The child smirked -- _her father's shit-eating smirk, what the fuck?_ \-- and said, "Unlikely. Might want to hurry. It really seemed important."

Varric hated to admit she was right, and she was gone down the stairs before he could offer a retort. _Just what the world needs, a female Curly._

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do enjoy writing a precocious child. Is she too annoying?
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are appreciated


	28. Ville des Chalons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in Orlais, Rainier sits in jail, and the Herald seeks some assistance.

Irgaine sat on the bench in the gaol of Val Royeaux with her hands in her lap. Her mark flickered once, and in her mind there was a clear picture of Varric, asleep at his desk, and Claira hovering over him. She shook her head and refocused on Blackwall, who was curled into himself in the corner of his cell.

_"I am not Blackwall. The real Blackwall is dead."_

_Each of her feet occupied three paving stones, which meant there were three times two times five paving stones beneath the party's feet. That's twenty five. Unless someone has smaller feet? Leliana..._

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do here." She said. "What do I do with a Warden who is not one? Particularly one who is a fugitive? I don't even know what this will do to our relations with Orlais..."

_Leliana knelt on the shining white stones, and Irgaine noticed that each one had script written around the edges. Names. Families. There were two stones under each of their knees, so that made eight. The Nightingale whispered, "How did I miss this? I have failed, Lady Herald."_

_Sera hovered over them, and Dorian stood before, staff planted in between five stones, the bladed tip digging into the blue-grey mortar. Blue and grey were Warden colors, and the colors Marcher widows wore in mourning. Irgaine wondered idly as she looked down at Leliana, ringed in stone and grief, if the first Wardens chose them apurpose, perhaps predictably melancholy. While they watched, and the crowd stood stock still, the hangman removed the noose from Mornay's neck, and turned to clap irons around Blackwall's -- Rainier's -- wrists. "Oi, beardy, what 'ave'yeh done?" The blonde elf murmured as she pulled her friends to their feet._

_Mornay slunk towards the statue of Andraste and prostrated himself before it, before moving into the shadows. Irgaine looked at his retreating form, then at Sera, who raised her eyebrows but started to follow him. Irgaine counted the paving stones under her toes with each step. Eight steps was twenty four stones, twenty four names, twenty four polished promises. Not-Blackwall's chains rattled as they led him away, over to the grand carved blue doors that crashed shut with finality behind him._

Irgaine palmed the piece of parchment in her thigh pocket. A long missive from Josephine, telling her their task was clear, and underway. By the time she got back to Skyhold, security would be back in place, with massive changes to ciphers and passwords and guard rotations and agent placements. The diplomats were already hard at work, arranging a meeting with the Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, to see if, since ultimately Rainier acted on his behalf, some arrangement could be reached between the Orlesian authority and the Inquisition, who was by their own law also an injured party in the former Chevalier's deception. Did Rainier's time as Blackwall count towards some of the debt he owed to the western power? And was not also, by written Orlesian law, the Grey Warden Order an injured party in this mess?

She shook her head as her thoughts swam around her. She could only hope that the Grand Duke was feeling generous.

\---

An hour or so passed, and footsteps sounded on the bitter black cobblestones. Irgaine looked up, to see Leliana, eyes red-rimmed, but her clothing and hair neat as a pin. She tried to smile at Irgaine as she stood to leave, but it seemed her face did not budge. The Herald's hand grazed her shoulder as they passed by each other, and when Irgaine disappeared, Leliana took her place on the bench.

They looked at each other for a long time without speaking.

He couldn't take it anymore, finally, and said, "What do you want to know?"

She released a breath she didn't know she was holding, and said, "Everything."

It took a moment, before Not-Blackwall seemed to collect himself. When he spoke, it was of dark times. Watching the neighborhood boys kill a puppy, doing nothing to stop it. The chevalier who helped him win the tourney. Thom Rainier's whoring, and carousing, and eventual grasp for wealth at the expense of the Callier family, whose children's cries still haunt him at night. Escaping, leaving his men to die in his stead, and meeting Gordon Blackwall. Trading his death, and trying to become a better man.

"I couldn't let Mornay swing. I just...couldn't."

The problem with the truth was it was often a terrible thing. A fact Leliana accepted in her youth made itself known again, and she reflected for a moment that perhaps a life of lies was just easier? Perhaps, this time, she would not hide her heart from it. "Were we falling in love?"

"I was." He looked up at her, with his sad and piercing blue eyes. "I could not let you fall in love with a lie."

"So was I." She stared back at him, eyes wide. "I am a spy. My life is built on my skill with lies."

"And this is one thing that should not be."

"So let there be no more of them between us." So she spoke of Her mother, and Lady Cecile, of growing up on the coast and dancing on balconies. Then going to Val Royeaux, meeting Marjolaine. Lessons in manipulation, then betrayal. Tug and Sketch and Silas, and Mother Dorothea. Plum brandy. Her time spent as the Left Hand. Pain and sacrifice and death, her complicated relationship with the Hero of Ferelden. The explosion at the Temple, and the blood on her hands from many years of espionage. Josephine, which made him cringe.

"So, as you see, I understand why you came here to do this. If giving my life would save even one person, better even one terrible thing, I would gladly do so."

She crossed the hallway and sat next to the bars of his cage on the ground. He scooted over to join her, and reached his fingertips through the bars. Leliana locked her hand with his, and they rested their foreheads together between the rungs of iron. Their breath mingled, and they sat there for a long time, saying nothing more.

\---

Irgaine sunk into the rose-scented copper tub provided by Vivienne's staff. There were no less than five serving women, each deftly braiding small strands of her hair, and she looked around the room and marveled at the ridiculous richness of Madame de Fer's apartment in Val Royeaux. Compared to the small spaces back in Ostwick, it was a palace, with five bedrooms, a music room, a lounge, and a dining room that sat twenty comfortably. All of the servants seemed delighted to have people to care for again, and had sprung into action immediately upon their arrival. Her meeting with General Gaspard was to be held over dinner, at Chateau des Chalons, his residence in the city. Both Josephine and Vivienne had sent her letters stressing the importance of her appearance at this event, even going so far as to send a dressmaker with a trunk full of gowns for her to choose from. When she was done washing, the women toweled her off, and began to put her into what she'd chosen, a simple leaf-colored bodice overlaid with floral lace, and loose dark grey divided skirts over jeweled slippers. The simplicity of the cut was elevated by the richness of the linen, and by the complicated style of her hair, a loose, five-segmented braid made up of hundreds of tiny little braids. When the servingwomen had asked if they could fix her hair for the event, she'd had no idea they'd meant literally for hours. She grunted as Elle tugged on the laces of the bodice to tighten them, hoisting her...everything...up higher on her chest. Maker take the woman who added boning to laces.

When she could breathe again, after asking to be loosened, Elle attacked her face with paints and powders, gently and deftly applying kohl around her eyes and lining her mouth with something that tasted of cherries. Irgaine waited for her to finish, before putting on her green lace mask and turning to face the mirror. She had to marvel at her transformation from dirty traveler to Orlesian noble, and smiled a bit at the maids while they fixed the spray of peacock feathers on the mask into her hair. It was lovely, all together, and as a final touch she pulled a small grey fingerless glove on to her left hand.

She bowed slightly at the women, who all dipped their heads in response, before going out the door, and out to the stables. Even the carriage was gilded, she noted with a wry smile. The ride to Gaspard's estate was not especially long, and made more comfortable by the warm blanket and cup of tea she found waiting inside. Dusk settled on Val Royeaux, bathing it in red and gold, and a chilly damp breeze dragged through the window. Early fall was lovely to look at, but certainly had its drawbacks. 

The massive gates of the royal family's estates shone brightly under the setting sun, and reflected on the water to the south, and she exited the carriage and was led to a sitting room, where another pot of tea sat next to a small plate of fruit and cheese at a small table with two chairs. There was a washstand in the corner, and a door that led to a small privy room. She attended to her needs and knocked on the door leading out, where the Elven maid waited to lead her deeper into the estate, to a grand staircase in front of a bank of windows facing the water to the south. 

The sun had just gone behind the horizon, and moonlight began to flicker across the surface. Many candles were lit around the room, and a wide shouldered man stood, hands clasped behind him, staring out at the stunning landscape. The servant softly cleared her throat, and said, "Your Grace, may I present the Lady Inquisitor Irgaine Trevelyan, Herald of Andraste. Your Worship, The Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, Commanding General of the Great Orlesian Army, cousin to her Excellence the Empress Celene." The woman held and impossibly low curtsy as she spoke, and only stood when the Duke held up a hand to dismiss her, without turning around.

"Would you join me?" Gaspard said from the window. Irgaine went to stand next to him, and looked out the window at the moonrise. They were silent for a few minutes, as it became fully dark, before he spoke again. "It is beautiful, is it not? It must be quite unlike sunsets up in those cold mountains."

"It is different, but no less beautiful. Like two sides of the same coin. Though the sunrises are by far more satisfying, when they crest over the valley just right." The soft clatter of dishes startled her, and she jumped a bit. Gaspard smiled at her beneath his hammered silver mask. She did not doubt the jewel teardrop beneath the left eye was a genuine amethyst, and it glinted as his head moved. She noticed now, standing closer to him, that he was a scant inch taller than her, he was sturdily built, well-muscled in a soldierly way, and his eyes were a deep blue, just the color of the nighttime sea behind him. His skin was tanned beneath his mask, and the dark purple velvet of his jacket clung to him like a glove. 

"Shall we dine?" He said, gesturing to the wide table. He guided her there with a hand on her back, standing not too close, but she was still aware of the warmth of his presence behind her. He moved off, and pulled a chair out for her. While she settled in the same maid ladled a clear broth into glass bowls, and set one down before each of them before clearing the soup tureen and leaving the room.

"Thank you for agreeing to see me, your Grace." She said, waiting for him before taking a small taste. The stuff was delightful, delicately flavored, and quite a departure from the usual Marcher and Fereldan fare they served at Skyhold. Even so, she forced her expression to stillness and continued, "Especially on such short notice."

"It is my pleasure," he replied, seating himself across from her. "The tales of your beauty are not exaggerations."

She felt a flush creep up her neck, unbidden, as he looked over his bowl at her, into her eyes. The amount of heat in his stare was shocking, and she felt herself gazing back with a bit of interest. "Thank you, you Grace, though I am amazed you can see anything, under my mask."

"It is quite easy. You have lovely cheekbones." He smiled again, more slyly this time, and continued, "I must ask why the Lady Inquisitor requires my assistance."

While he ate his soup, she explained, "...and as it turns out, one of my closest allies is an impostor, posing as a dead Grey Warden."

"Ah. The Rainier fellow. I was surprised to hear of it. I assumed him long dead." He leaned forward slightly, and said. "I would like to speak freely of this matter with you. Shall we, ah, how do you Marchers say it? Lean back on our knives and let our mouths go free?"

Irgaine smiled. "It's tongues. Let our tongues go free."

"That, perhaps, is a discussion for a later time." Gaspard smiled at her disarmingly, and she felt herself shudder. "But yes."

"I am surprised you've heard the expression. We are...rather far west." Maker take the man, the way he was smiling at her. Was she smiling back? She turned her mind to the handsome Commander that waited for her back at her keep, and took another small sip of her soup.

"After the Blight, I served with some men from Wycome. Forgive me, but," he rolled up his left sleeve, revealing a long scar on his forearm. "This was the consequence of not knowing what it meant."

"Ah. Never cross a Marcher." She tried to slowly calm her breathing, but it was difficult with his eyes roving over her. She knew she was staring back, at his broad chest and strong, calloused hands. _Cullen, Think of Cullen._

"Indeed." While he pulled his sleeve down and buttoned the cuff, he said, "If I may, then...?"

"Yes. Let us lean back on our knives, and let our tongues go free." She tilted her head to look at him as she pushed the bowl away.

"As you may know, my dear cousin Celene and I are in the midst of a power struggle. Most of the fighting is on the plains, but there are two outposts that I know of where my men and women are trapped, and cut off from supplies. They may survive another month yet, but I can't get aid to them past Celene's troops. There is also a faction of...shall we say, domestic terrorists? That have set up camp between the two outposts, so they cannot help each other." He stopped as the maid returned with two warm plates and a platter of roasted grouse and baby potatoes and leeks, which she deftly cut and served before taking the dirty bowls and disappearing again. He continued, gesturing for her to eat. "I was hoping, you could send in a few people to clear the supply lines?"

She paused in thought. "I don't see how I could do that without appearing to be taking sides. We are not meant to be a political organization."

Their eyes met across the table, and for a moment, neither spoke, the attraction between them suddenly readily apparent. He exhaled and pushed his plate away without taking a bite. "Well, if we are being frank, and I hope we are?"

She nodded and set her utensils down. She looked to the bottle of wine on the table, and he smiled at her and gestured for her to help herself. She stood, and filled two glasses, handing one to him before sitting back in her chair. He continued, "You have come to me for political assistance, your Worship. Why would I not ask for political assistance in return? What you ask is not a difficult task, but it is one that might call into question my publicly spoken desire for less bloodshed. The aid of the Inquisition in this matter would balance out my detractors, as your forces are known to be impartial. And save my soldiers, who did not expect to be trapped by demons and undead in addition to Celene's loyalists and those blighted Freemen."

"Will you release my man, then?" Irgaine asked as she took a sip of wine.

"I shall see it done upon your triumphant return to Val Royeaux. Free my men, and I free yours. Simple, really. That is, if you agree." Gaspard stood, meal forgotten, and grabbed the bottle of wine. He stood next to her chair and held out his hand. "Bring your glass, my Lady, and we can speak more in the garden."

She stood and accepted his arm, and let him lead her through a carefully disguised door out into a paved and manicured garden. There were a few sturdy benches, and Gaspard escorted her to the one facing the water. In front of them was a small table with a chess set already set up, figurines painted in too-bright colors. The scent of jasmine lingered as the pale flowers opened, mingling with the crispness of the cool white wine. She relaxed back into the corner of her seat, facing the Duke, and said. "If you can give me Rainier, I will see to the matter personally."

"We are agreed, then. Shall we confirm it in the Marcher style?" He smiled at her again, and spat in his palm, holding it out to shake her hand. She did the same, and they shook. His grin widened, and he said, "It is refreshing, to have a conversation I don't have to search for nuance."

He was still holding her hand, and pulled out a small kerchief to wipe their palms. He put it back in his pocket, and turned her hand over, grazing his thumb across her knuckles. She tugged on her arm, and he released her, but said, "I am sorry for the loss of your father, my Lady."

"Thank you, your Grace." She clasped her hands in her lap, and said, "Would you call me Irgaine?"

"Only if you call me Gaspard." He peered at her, and sidled closer to her on the couch. "And, Irgaine, perhaps I could make another request?"

"I'm seeing someone." She blurted.

Gaspard laughed and took her hand again. "A small obstacle, for me."

"So modest." She laughed with him, and did not take her hand away. She was positively drawn in, at once wanting to flee and stay, so she waited for him to say something else.

"Do you think," he continued seriously, "That Rainier deserves to be punished?"

"Yes, but not by the Inquisition, certainly, he has only behaved honorably as our agent, with the exception of his identity. And he has shed blood for you, too, and you are the one releasing him." Irgaine replied, pulling her hand from his and leaning away. "I was going enquire as to the possibility of sending him to the Wardens."

"Do you mean, is it legal?" He asked, staring into her eyes again. "The Treaties of the Blight make it so." He leaned closer to her, almost touching her elbow with his. 

She smiled and held up a hand. "Stop it."

Gaspard laughed and relented, moving his arm back to his side and scooting over to the other end of the bench. "As you wish. I ask, sincerely this time, why the Wardens?"

"Apart from the Calliers, and aren't they all dead?...they are the next most injured party." She frowned. "Or perhaps keep him on staff, and pay his salary in reparations? But he's impossible to trust, now, and I don't think I want him there."

"I'll see to the reparations, if you make certain he gets to the Wardens alive." He smirked. "If he dies, you can take care of it."

"That seems quite fair. Alright." She smiled back at him, and said,"You've been most generous and helpful, your Grace."

"Gaspard." He corrected, "There is one thing, perhaps a small matter to you? Call it a personal request."

"I am listening."

"Allow me to be your escort to Celene's ball at Halamshiral?"

Josephine would kill her if she did not accept. "It would be my honor."

He looked down at the table, at the chessboard, and he peered at her seriously for a moment. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, business done, and asked, "Would you care for a game?"

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I may be self indulgent for a moment; seriously, this chapter is what took so damned long and I'm still not super happy with it. But I feel like I've wrestled it long enough for a hobby, you know? It's like, I'm making this scarf, and I'm twelve rows away when I spot a mistake and I'm like fuck it, the scarf is for me anyways.
> 
> So I'll reserve the right to change it later, or just make it work later, or whatever. 
> 
> Kudos/comments/love


	29. Thanks for Breakfast, Anyways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ramping up at Skyhold to take care of some business. Lots of food, for no reason.

Solas found Hawke at once fascinating and irritating. How could a man who was an apostate all his life know so little of the Fade? Though to be fair, since studying with Hawke, his Ice magic had improved greatly, and he couldn't even use his Mind Blast in training anymore, since they'd had a long, complicated talk about Force magic and matrices. (Perhaps, he reflected, he found all other mages somewhat annoying, when he thought about Dorian being upset with them that he missed it.) And Hawke had benefited from Solas' tutelage with Lightning magics, now able to strike more precisely with single bolts. On this day, the two men were in the rotunda, arguing about barriers, when Vivienne strode in from the Hall and stood before them, arms at her sides.

Madame de Fer sniffed haughtily at them. "Good afternoon, gentlemen."

Hawke sketched an awkward bow, but Solas merely inclined his head. "What can we help you with, Lady Vivienne?" The elf said, sneering slightly. Yes, it was all mages, he realized as he tried to keep his dislike of the Iron Lady off his face. 

"I will have to travel to Montsimmard for a few days, to retrieve the seamstress I discussed with the Inquisitor. I will be passing through an area that should be fully in bloom with Dawn Lotus. Perhaps, if i were to retrieve you some of the blooms, you would consent to give Claira her lessons while I am gone?" She met Solas' eyes, face stoic, "A simple exchange of favors, if it pleases you."

He might not have been more surprised if she'd strode into the room with pointed ears, wearing Keeper's robes. Hawke laughed, seemingly at the expression on the somber apostate's face. Solas clapped his jaw shut, and stared at her for a moment. 

Still chuckling, Hawke said, "Now there's a picture. I'd love to see that."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Solas asked drily, the tips of his ears red, though it was hard to tell if it was anger or embarrassment. "I have taught a Mage before."

"Well I'll help, if you want." Hawke said. 

The elf nodded. "Yes, I'll do it. For the Dawn Lotus, and the reason you're asking me, instead of one of the many circle mages working in the tower."

Vivienne sighed a bit dramatically, then cleared her throat and leaned forward. "I'd rather wear plaideweave than ask Fiona." She said quietly, a thread of pure dislike in her voice. 

Solas shook his head, but smiled slightly. "When can I expect her?"

""I'll bring her to you at the third bell."

\---

Gareth found himself in line behind one of Leliana's scouts, a sly woman named Ritts who kept making notes on her report even as she waited, like he used to to with the papers his tutor asked for. In front of her was Claira with the Commander's breakfast. The child took her time pouring his tea, and the man grinned behind her back affectionately as she obviously bought time for the worried scout. The man said, to both of them, "It's fine, Ritts, make a verbal report and get the written one to me later. It's just parchment."

The woman laughed nervously, and began to speak. The Empress Celene's forces requested assistance on the Orlesian plains, as two of their companies had disappeared, and one more was being harried into hiding by a group of mercenaries, or something, called the Freeman of the Dales. Also of note was Clan Ralafelin, camped out in the south near ancient Elven ruins where she reported spotting demons roaming. She'd made a hasty escape and returned to Skyhold, and found Leliana gone, and thus was reporting to the Commander instead. "I'm sorry, I was told you liked things in writing. Sister Leliana doesn't." She held out the papers sheepishly.

"Thank you, Ritts. To whom would you normally report, after seeing the Nightingale?" 

"She usually reassigns me herself." She waited.

"Report to Master Tethras, then, and tell him he has you for two weeks." He said. "My apologies, but your skills have subtleties I wouldn't even know to exploit. And he is working on relief efforts in the Marches."

Ritts saluted, and said, "Thank you for your candor, sir. I'll do whatever I can."

"Thanks for the information. Dismissed."

The scout flashed a relieved smile at him and strode out of the room to the bridge, holding the door open for someone else to get in line. 

Gareth came up to the desk, and Claira held up a napkin with an Orleisan beignet on it. He shook his head and waved it off, but she peered at him and set it on the corner of the desk, as if to say, _you'll take it eventually._ The Commander stood up and held his arm out, shook Gareth's hand, and said, "What can I do for you, Lord Trevelyan?"

"Give me something to do, Commander." He said plainly. "I've been here for weeks, with idle hands, except for Claira, of course" he smiled down at the girl "and I am itching to be useful." Gareth tucked his long hair behind his ears and smiled. "Can I help with anything?"

"There's certainly enough to be done," Cullen said. "Am I the first person you've asked? Right now I'm positively swimming in idle hands, but some of the others may not be."

"I figured I'd start with you. The line says you're the busiest." He flung a hand vaguely behind him. 

The Commander laughed. "It says, I'm the lucky one, to have all this help." Claira handed him a plate, and he took a bite of his eggs, and moved a piece of ham around with his fork. "I even have someone force feeding me."

The child snorted at him but did not comment as she ate, and opened a drawer and pulled out a deck of cards. While she dealt, Gareth said, "Any suggestions where I should start?"

"Varric is working on helping survivors on the Marches, if you'd be willing to lend your name to that. Although I suspect there's also a line down the stairs in the rookery, as he's taken the desk up there in Leliana's absence." He took a few bites of his breakfast, and Gareth finally grabbed his pastry. The door swung open again, and a hooded figure joined the line. "Cassandra might be able to find a spot for you in the guard rotation, if you want. Or Master Dennet might have things for you to do."

"Well, thanks for breakfast, anyways." Gareth said as he went to the door. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help."

Trevelyan shrugged and closed the door, and began to go across the bridge. The door from the rotunda was open, and Madame de Fer was saying something into the room, and nodding as she shut it. She stride towards him quickly, her heels clacking on the stone in time with the swinging of her hips. She arched a smile at him, and said, "Good morning, Lord Trevelyan. How are you feeling, after your ordeal?"

_Well,_ he thought, _of course she would bring that up._ The woman had an incisive wit, and pointing out his time spent in sickbed was meant to shrink him, set him off balance. His mistrust of anyone with an Orlesian accent had so far served him well with the Iron Lady, and so he used his charm, and smiled at her, so like his half-sister. "I am quite well, my Lady, thank you." He replied. "What brings you this way?"

"I had thought to ask the Commander for an armed escort, for a short journey to Orlais. But you, I realize, have been idle since your arrival, have you not?" Her brown eyes met his pointedly, and she tilted her lips up at the corners a bit. "I assume you've just come from his office with nothing to do?"

I "You possess stunning insight, my lady."

Her eyes narrowed. "If you'd like to join me, you will not be flippant."

"As you say, my lady." He bowed slightly at the waist in apology. "I think I would enjoy a short trip. Stretch my legs a bit. Have you asked any others so far?"

"No. I recently secured tutoring for the child while I am away. I suggest you do the same."

"Of course I will. When did you wish to leave?" He asked.

"At first light tomorrow." She said, dismissing him with a final nod, before turning to go into the office. 

Gareth began to walk away, rolling his eyes, and went back to his quarters to pack.

\---

Cullen didn't know how right he was about Varric's current situation, and the line of green hoods and various chest pieces did, in fact, trail down the library stairwell from the dwarf's temporary post in the Rookery. Varric sighed as he listened to yet another verbal report of a missing spy in Crestwood, and a request for aid from Charter in the matter. He made a note on his list, and dismissed the messenger, accepting the small piece of vellum from the next agent in line.

_Varric, are you busy?_

He grinned up at the man, and took out a fresh piece of parchment. Across the top, he wrote, _Why? Are you bored?_ and handed it back to the man, who rolled his eyes but took it. Varric said, "When you get to the end of the line, tell them I'm taking a break, alright? And when we're done here, you head to the tavern for lunch, on me."

The man looked mollified, and took the parchment and his leave back down the stairs. The next messenger in line was from Josephine, holding a note asking him about one of the more friendly ship captains he knew, to see if she could perhaps be convinced to aid travelers across the Waking Sea. 

_I was actually going to chat with you about this, Ruffles. I bet, for the right price, Rivaini could be convinced to bring a few of her friends along as well, but I didn't want to discuss Inquisition resources without permission from someone. There is still the matter of where the ships will go to land. Until we can clear the port on the Storm Coast, perhaps we could arrange something farther east?_

_As soon as we have a place to bring people, I can get some ships in the water for us, but even Bela won't agree to this craziness without a friendly port. Let's get our situation in order before we go reaching out too far._

The messenger accepted his note, and went down the stairs. He continued in this fashion, sometimes writing replies, sometimes giving verbal instructions, until the first courier arrived again, with an answer from Cassandra. Varric had been watching for him, to divert his attention a bit from the never ending stream of news from all over Thedas.

Underneath his first sentence, Cassandra's neat script read, _Finished my reports, but the scene I am working on is very sad, and I am not enjoying it._

Varric looked up, and there were only two more people to see. He wrote, _Tavern? Lunch?_ before passing it back.

The messenger looked a little annoyed but left again, and Varric signed for a package from the next courier, before facing the final visitor, Scout Ritts. "Commander Rutherford sent me to you. He said you have me for two weeks, to assist you in the recovery efforts in the Marches."

Varric blinked. Sometimes, the Maker was generous. "You know what, Ritts, I want you to head out to Denerim, and see what you can see at the docks there. Is business booming, or is everything clogged up with Kirkwall closed and Ostwick gone? Find out if the Alamarri still control that section of the port. Any objections?"

"Nothing comes to mind." She smiled at him and nodded once, curtly. "When should I be ready?"

"At the latest, tomorrow afternoon. I'd like you to be well underway by sunset."

"Very well." She sketched a bow and went back down the stairs.

Varric stood and stretched, and placed his second favorite sash across the papers on the desk, to indicate his extended absence, and then pulled the notes off the ankles of the most recently arrived crows from the west. On the off chance he beat the Seeker to the tavern, he would read them while he waited. He folded them neatly, and placed them in the pocket of his trousers before descending the stairs and going through the library. He waved politely at Fiona as he passed, and went down again to the empty rotunda before crossing into the Great Hall. His normal desk was empty, save for Hawke's stack of books, and the hearth was cold. The dwarf passed them both, and went down the stairs to the courtyard, and the Herald's Rest.

\---

_"There is nothing left between us. The real Whitebridge intended for you to rejoin his Order with him, and so, it is to the Children of The Maker you will go, to face their judgment, and their penalty, or to serve them for the rest of your days. I am the Overseer, and I have Spoken."_

_Lorelai turns away from him then, and walks carefully to the hidden door behind her garish iron throne, pulling it shut behind her with a very final thud._

_The man who is not Whitebridge lays facedown on the steps, and does not resist when the guards carry his limp form back to his cell._

_Lorelai walks down the hallway to her chambers, passing the tapestries on the wall, and pulling them down from their hooks as she goes. Her face is thunder, her eyes are wet, and she is entirely exhausted. She enters her apartment, and slams the door shut behind her, her whole body quaking with stress and sorrow and rage. Across the room there is a paneled sideboard, with a cut crystal decanter of Tevinter Bourbonne and an empty glass, sitting clean and polished on a mirrored tray. Her shoulders fall, and she gets herself a glass, drinks it down in one gulp. She pours another, and takes it into her bedchamber, where she climbs into her bed, on to her mountain of pillows, and finally lets a weak whimper escape her lips._

_She takes another sip of the sweet brown liquor, and sets the glass on the table next to her bed, determined to get a pillow over her face before she can make another sound. Not for the first time that day, she wails into the down filled fabric, and laments love and honor lost._

Cassandra had to stop writing. The tears slid down her face unchecked, and she set down her quill and got up from her desk to go to the washstand. A short while had passed since she'd sent written agreement back to Varric, and if she didn't stop now, she would be at it all day, whether it was being a blubbering mess or writing her story or both. In any case, her stomach rumbled loudly, and the tantalizing smell of stewing goat wafted in through her open window. There was a soft, bready scent too, and she washed her face quickly, and pulled on a clean wool tunic. Down the stairs quickly, and she was out the door.

When Mira did the cooking, the tavern was always crowded. The Seeker elbowed her way in, and dutifully shuffled forward with the rest of the press of humanity. The mess line was efficient under Mira's velvet glove, and it didn't take too long before Cassandra carried a bowl of stew and something the Marcher woman called a pretzel, a giant looped breadstick coated with oil and salt. It was meant, she guessed, to be broken up and dipped into the soup. Everything was very hot, though, and she fished her gloves off her belt to cradle her dish with them. She collected a large flagon of the new Orlesian beer from the bar, and went up the stairs to find Varric.

He sat at a corner table, with a half-eaten bowl of stew and two of the giant pretzels, on a napkin next to a jar of mustard. He was reading something, and absently chewing on a knot of golden brown dough. Cassandra's heart lifted a little at the way his eyes narrowed in concentration, and if she were more of a simpering maiden she might have said the furrow between his eyebrows was entirely adorable. If she were less of a hardened warrior, she would have been charmed by the fact that his beer was full, and getting warm because he was lost in his work.

As it was, she sat at the table across from him and set down her lunch, taking a sip of her beer and waiting for the stew to cool, and suppressing a smile at Varric, instead tapping his ankle with her foot under the table. 

The dwarf looked up at her, unsurprised, folding the small pile of papers and settling them back into his pocket. "Hello, Seeker. Did you get your scene finished?"

"Depressingly so." She said, scooping up a bite. "I might go to the ring tonight."

"Any particular victim in mind?" He asked, smirking at her. "I could get a betting pool going, depending on who you're fighting."

"I don't think so, Varric." She sniffed disdainfully. They ate in silence for a few moments more, until she said, "I had thought to just go, and see who is there."

"It's just as well, really. I have entirely too much to do." He sighed. "You see the sacrifices I make for duty."

"Ugh." \---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my big old update, and thanks for sticking with me. You know how it is when life gets busy, and I'm glad you're still here.
> 
> as always, I'd love to hear what you think.


	30. Another Slip of Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Subtitle: get on with it already!
> 
> Moving the plot forward quickly to the Winter palace :)

"Well, good morning, Claira." Solas was cleaning up his paints when his pupil strode in, carrying a covered basket full of dirty dishes. "Did you breakfast with the Commander again?"

"I did. I thought about what you showed me yesterday, and I think I've figured out how it works." She set her basket down on the tray from the mage's own breakfast, before carrying it back out to the hall and depositing it with the rest of the breakfast plates. When she returned, Solas had finished cleaning his hands, and she went to the center of the rotunda, and splayed her arms in front of her. "I'm ready to try, if you'd like to see."

"Very well. Begin." 

Claira flung her hand out, over his desk, and a bright fuschia barrier sprung up around it. Solas raised his eyebrows at her, and she grinned. "Mine's pink."

"It will not be helpful should you require stealth." Solas said, though he looked a little amused. A precocious, inventive child. Small wonder Vivienne enjoyed her so. He himself was quickly becoming enchanted by the small blonde. "If you did not wish to be seen, how would you go about making your barrier?" The pink light winked out, and the child looked away. "I'd have to think about that. It took some practicing to get it to work."

"I thought your mother didn't want you practicing in your room? I hope you didn't get into trouble?" He peered down at her, while she gestured with her hands, playing with creating smaller, dimmer barriers on the desk, over the books. She scratched her head, and tucked a stray blond curl behind her ear, then flicked her hand out, with her palm down. The stack winked away.

He shook his head, surprised. He blinked, and the books reappeared. Claira said, "I guess, that's how I'd do it. I'd have to work on making it bigger, though." "How did you manage...that?" There was a note of honest amazement in his voice. "Though I see how you make it work."

"Is it weird? It's weird, isn't it? Lady Vivienne says, I should always think about how the parts of spells work together to make a whole event. It's a lot like cooking in its own way; the end product might be slightly different, just like two loaves of bread from different bakers, but you've still got a loaf of bread." Her nose wrinkled a little, and the books and a small corner of the desk disappeared. "I just adjusted the recipe."

"That is...stop that!" The right side of the desk reappeared. "That can be extremely dangerous, and I'll ask you not to...adjust anything else without supervision. For now, can you cast that around yourself?"

Hawke strolled into the rotunda an hour later, looked around, and strolled right back out, assuming they'd gone out to the yards to practice lightning, and did not hear Claira giggle as she held the invisible barrier over them.

\---

The line in the rookery once again descended down the stairs, and was populated with mostly Orlesian chest plates today. Whatever agreement Irgaine had with The Grand Duke had news coming in from all corners of Orlais now, excepting, of course, the Exalted Plains. Only one message made it to Skyhold, confirming Bull's safe arrival there, where he awaited the Inquisitor, Dorian, and Sera. The Dwarven messenger in front of him was haggard; he explained he'd been traveling for weeks, sent by the Carta to assure the Inquisitor that it was a small, splinter group responsible for the disaster in Oswick, and certainly not the main body of the organization, who of course just wanted to keep trade freely moving about the continent.

Varric absolutely did not roll his eyes, and was in fact extremely respectful to the tattooed dwarf, offering him a bunk before his departure. The dwarf agreed gratefully, then stepped away back to the stairwell, and hesitated briefly before walking down into the library.

Next in line was a cloaked, hooded figure, whose face was hidden by shadows. All the birds paused at once, when she removed her hood, revealing a shock of bright red hair and a bemused smile. "I see you've been managing well in my absence."

"Hello, Leliana." Varric smirked up at her. "Guess I'd better go fetch the Seeker, and start packing?"

"You leave in the morning. Take Hawke with you, too." Varric got out of the chair, while the line watched. Leliana sat down, and said, "So refresh me. Do you have notes?"

"I have them here." He pointed at the pile of vellum on her right, with the top page still drying. They spent the next two hours clearing the line, and catching up on business, before Varric said. "I don't think Hawke is actually part of the Inquisition. He doesn't really take orders from anyone, you know."

"I suppose you could take Gareth, if he were so inclined. And I was implying, you should ask him to join you on the Coast. Doesn't he enjoy the rain?"

"You'd think that, but no." Varric grimaced, reminded of Leandra. "And Gareth left with Vivienne last week. They'll be back with the clothier in a few days."

"The Chargers have been ordered to accompany you, as well."

"You think it's gonna be that bad?"

"I think Irgaine is not inclined to lose her favorite dwarf." Leliana replied, her voice soft and lilting.

"Not proven I'm her favorite." He said, and started for the stairs. 

"I'm sure you know where you stand with the Lady Trevelyan." Her voice followed him through the rookery and the birds shuffled and twittered on their posts. She picked up his sheaf of notes and began to sift through them. "But I'm sure I could ask her, if you are indeed."

"She does know a lot of other dwarves." Varric answered carefully.

"Maybe not as well as she knows you?" Leliana smiled at him a little, and read a few more notes, then wrote something out on a new sheet of vellum. 

No, he would not get into any cryptic conversations with the Nightingale, thanks very much. "Is there anything else you need from me?"

Silence descended on them, and she shook her head. "I have much to catch up on. And thank you for watching over things while I was gone."

Varric silently stole down the steps, at once relieved and queasy, and went down to the gardens for a bath. Small bit of luck, then, that Hawke was soaking in the steaming tub farthest from the door to the wash chamber, with Wejes in the one behind him, separated by a wall with a high window in it. She was laughing, and Hawke was telling a story from the old Kirkwall days. "...so Isabela ducked, and punched him in the groin, before flinging me the amulet. The guy howled and clutched at himself and fell to the floor, and we ran as fast as we could up to Lowtown, and hid at the Hanged Man!"

Wejes' laugh was more a howl of delight, and Varric didn't bother masking his footfalls. "Did you tell her that the amulet was fake?" He called through the chamber.

"Varric!" His whole face lit up with his smile, upon seeing his best friend enter the baths. "Come on in! It's our last wash before going to the Coast, and I wondered when you'd be along."

"Wait. I was coming to ask you if you wanted to join us. You're already going?" Varric opened the sluice above the tub, and it began to fill with water warmed by the runes in the collar. 

"Lady Cassandra asked me last week, when the orders came through. Solas has to stay for Claira, and The Iron Lady went to fetch a seamstress with Lord Trevelyan. Why would you wait until the last minute, anyways? So inconsiderate." Hawke splashed a bit of water at Varric as he stripped. "Like I'd just drop everything on such short notice."

"Does 'everything'" Varric made quotes with his fingers in the air "mean 'drinking at the tavern to dawn and then sleeping to dinner?'"

"Just because I'm finally responsibility free, and you're the one toiling away, doesn't mean you get to whine about it." 

Wejes laughed again, the soft husky tone reverbating off the tile.

\---

_Inquisitor,_

_I am pleased to report that the Templar stronghold on the Storm Coast has been cleared of its residents. Varric also destroyed four more Red Lyrium deposits, and Krem and the Chargers spent yesterday gathering a fair bushel of black lotus to be sent back to Skyhold. We've sent seeds back as well for same. The Blades of Hessarian have now set up a small camp a scant hundred yards from our own; they await further orders but for now will patrol the port daily and guard it at night._

_We have sustained no lasting injuries, just standard bumps and bruises, though Hawke will have a new scar to show off on his arm. I hope your journey finds you in as fit a state. I've sent another copy of this to Skyhold, to which we return tomorrow. See you soon._

_Cassandra_

\---

_Irgaine,_

_I do not know what kind of accord you struck with Grand Duke Gaspard, but messengers have been arriving recently, carrying news from his small network. One also arrived with a matched pair of Orlesian Coursers, for breeding, a gift for you which threw Dennet into a flurry of delight. I've never seen the man even crack a smile before, and he was positively giddy._

_Having said that, I am loath to ask, but what exactly did you offer the Duke? Rumors from Val Royeaux say you dined with him, and stayed well into the evening, and more things which I hope are untrue. He is sending you expensive gifts, there's another box in your chambers, and messengers, and I do not know what to think. I do not like this sinking feeling I have in my stomach._

_Cullen_

\---

_Josephine,_

_The plains are lovely this time of year, not too hot as you said. We have managed to clear the areas around Gaspard's troops, and stopped most of the undead from rising. We will have to dispatch two crews of engineers, however--we've found a cave in, and found Celene's troops stranded across Pont Agur, which is neatly broken in half in the middle. (Bull suggested if Varric were here we could just toss him, but the engineers are a wiser choice, I think.) Unfortunately, with the Empress' ball so close, her troops will have to wait while I return to Skyhold to prepare._

_The young man carrying this message is called Loranil, a Dalish elf from Clan Ralafelin, and he is your newest agent. He is a sweet young man, and his clan was loath to let him go. Weren't you saying a few weeks ago that it would be nice to have someone to talk to the Dalish? I thought this worked out for you nicely._

_Has Vivienne returned with the tailor? Remind her that I detest boning and ruin silk, if you please. By the time we get back to Skyhold, I hope to see a few options both for formal uniforms and possibly dresses for the three of us and Cassandra._

_Irgaine_

\---

_Commander,_

_Thank you for the stack of reports; your suggestions for and drawings of New Haven are remarkable, and I will consider them seriously. Of particular interest is the grove of maple trees I think I noticed in one of your sketches. You may or may not know this about Mira; but her mother lived in Orlais for a long time, near Val Firmin, where they harvest the sap and distill it to make a sweetener. Talk to her, she still remembers how it's done. Perhaps we could use it as a cash crop?_

_I'll read the rest when I am en route to Skyhold._

_Irgaine_

another slip of paper, smaller and clearly furiously scribbled

_Regarding the elements of your personal letter: I'm quite sure I don't need to hear the rumors to know what they say. In truth, we did dine, and I did stay late. Playing chess. I wonder, did you really think I would make time with Gaspard to get not-Blackwall out of jail for murdering children? It sounds terrible aloud, and looks worse written out. I have no control over anyone sending me anything. You know that._

_We can speak when I return. It seems we have much to discuss._

_Irgaine_

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's a bit short. That's why the double update.


	31. La Vie en Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a terrible day
> 
> NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ukulele version of the song on the playlist. Go ahead and listen to it while you read, if you've a mind to torture yourself.
> 
> La vie en rose, by Edith Piaf (French)/Louis Armstrong(English)  
> Used with love, not making any dollars ;)

Irgaine sat on her balcony, watching the night sky and holding the small, four-stringed guitar she liked to travel with, with her back pressed to the stones between the glass doors. Her knees were spread wide in front of her, and there was a nearly-empty bottle between them. She sighed, heavily, and began to strum an old, sad song.

_hold me close and hold me fast_  
_the magic spell you cast  
_ _this is La vie en rose_

They returned from Val Royeaux in the soft dark of the previous evening, with Not-Blackwall astride his own horse but his hands still clapped in irons. They dismounted silently, and when the first runner appeared she immediately had a bath sent to her chamber, then sent Bull off to his men. Sera and Dorian wandered away too, while the Inquisitor herself led the man down into the cells, past the catcalls of the other prisoners there. When she locked him in, she met his eyes briefly but did not speak before turning away again. 

Her feet were heavy on the cold filthy stairs, but she finally reached the top and pulled the door shut. The guards inside slid the bolt home, and she turned to cross the hall, where she could see Wejes waiting for her near the dais. The Guardswoman smiled and bowed slightly as she approached, then fell into step behind her as she began to go up the stairs to her chamber. 

Irgaine groaned as she climbed, her thighs tensing unpleasantly. Wejes frowned. "Your worship?"

"I've been in the saddle for along while. A bath, and some tea, will help. Will you please inform the advisers to meet me in the War Room in an hour? And have the inner circle to report to the Grand Hall at the fifth bell. After that, I'll need you to clear the public baths off the garden. No visitors for half an hour, but let people finish washing. When it is empty, come and fetch me from the meeting."

They finally reached her room, where a fire roared, and a copper tub steamed. The scent of lavender filled the air, and Irgaine began to remove her armor. "Thank you, Wejes. That will be all."

_when you kiss me heaven sighs_  
_and though I close my eyes  
_ _I see la vie en rose_

She progressed through the judgements on the docket at a brisk pace, due to the late hour, sending a cadre of slavers to the Wardens, and arming Movran to go harass Tevinter. The room gasped collectively when she offered Ser Ruth divine forgiveness, and her freedom. But it was finally time, and her voice did not waver as she said, "Sergeant Wejes, retrieve Captain Rainier."

A soft sigh settled over the courtiers as the clink of the man's irons sounded against the stone walls. His face and hair were neat, his beard trimmed, and he wore a fresh doublet, one of Hawke's, she thought. He stood, head bowed, before her as she sat on the great uncomfortable throne. Sunlight shone through the great stained glass windows behind her, off of the chains around his wrists and against the gilded buttons of her white overcoat, and suddenly to her right stood Cullen, and not Josephine as she'd expected.

He held her candle board in one hand, making it look entirely too small, and cleared his throat, looking down at her uncomfortably. Their letters still hung between them, unresolved. He flushed, but spoke. "Lady Montilyet has...recused herself from prosecuting the charges at this proceeding." He paused for a moment before he began to read them. 

_when you press me to your heart_  
_I am in a world apart_  
_a world where roses bloom_

"...and so it is to the Wardens you will go. You have the night to prepare and say your goodbyes. If anyone wishes to accompany you at dawn, you will accept them. That is my final order for you. The Inquisition thanks you for your service."

The weight of Leliana's stare filled Irgaine's heart with sorrow as she watched her men release the irons from Rainier's wrists. He walked to the Nightingale, and fell to his knees before her. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked down at him, before hauling him to his feet. He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair, and Irgaine had to look away. Her head swiveled, and she met Cullen's eyes instead, feeling her heart sink again even as she looked at the door to her chambers. He nodded, and walked to it, pulling it open.

She followed him up the stairs, watching the sway of his cloak and the light from the windows on the metal of his greaves. It was impossible not to admire him, even as she was hurt by him, and she shook her head as she rounded the top of the stairs into her room. He removed his cloak, and hung it over the chair, before sitting down at the desk in the corner. Irgaine sat down across from him, and clasped her hands together, looking at him expectantly.

It was quiet in the room, and the mood was somber. The corners of Cullen's mouth drew down, tugging on the scar on his lip. He finally said. "I'm sorry."

Irgaine sighed. "As am I. I should have written to you. It was thoughtless of me not to." 

"I should have trusted that you would not....do that." Cullen met her eyes, a note of sadness in his. "I should not have let jealousy get the better of me."

"Agreed. Is it because of my past? If you had more questions, you could have asked them." She felt herself wringing her hands, and moved them to the carved wooden arms of her chair. She gripped them so tightly she could feel them digging into her palms. "You could ask now."

"I could. But there's more than the issue of Gaspard--"

"Maker's ass, nothing happened!"

"You said that!" He paused to take a deep breath. "There's more, and I do not know how to say it."

_quand il prend me dans ses bras_  
_Il me parle tout bas_  
_je vois la vie en rose_

Her nostrils flared. "How could you possibly think I would be angry about that? It means that Claira has a good, strong man for a father! Is this what you really think of me? I am not the evil whore you've conjured in your mind!"

"I don't think you're evil." He said quietly.

"But you do think I'm a whore?" Irgaine asked.

"I think you used to be, and perhaps old habits die hard."

Irgaine's eyes narrowed. "So now you look down on me for 'being a whore,' but you sired a child with one! Who happens to be my cousin? You think I'm a whore, but you've pushed my knees apart for free, shall I send you a bill? Or just turn around right now so you can hike up my skirts again? Which is it, Cullen? You're the John, you tell me what you want!"

"What I want is the truth! Did you sleep with Gaspard or not?"

Her hand moved almost on its own, reaching out like a viper to strike Cullen across the face, hard. The crack of flesh on flesh echoed through the room, and he reeled with the sheer force of it, reaching up to grasp his cheek where a wide red handprint began to bloom across his fair skin. "Get out." She hissed.

Cullen backed away as she stood, shouting. "GetoutgetoutgetOUT!"

He turned and fled, stomping down the stairs loudly and slamming the door.

_il me dit des mots d'amour_  
_des mots tous les jours_  
_et ca me fait quelque chose_

Varric watched Cullen storm though the Hall, making a mental note of the mark on his face, before stopping a passing messenger. "Hey, go find the Seeker, and send her to Cullen. Tell her I said." The woman scurried away, and he walked over to the dais, where Wejes stood at the door to the Inquisitor's stairwell. "Was it bad?" He asked.

"Bad enough." She replied. "I don't think she wants visitors now."

"It's not about what she wants, it's about what she needs. Go down to the storeroom and fetch us a bottle, would you?" It was clearly not a request, so Wejes opened the door for him, and went downstairs while he went up. He rapped his knuckles on the door, but didn't wait for an answer before opening it and stepping inside. He could hear the Herald playing her music, and frowned at the note in her voice. His stomach was roiling and churning, and he felt the urge to vomit rise and fade just as quickly as he climbed the last three stairs. She sat outside, with Garbolg's Finest between her knees, and trails of tears drying on her face.

He watched her for a few minutes, and accepted the bottle of Uager from Wejes before sending her back to her post. He went to the balcony and pulled the door open. Irgaine looked up with a start. "Oh. Varric. Something you need?"

"I was going to ask you that." He said, following her gaze to where she watched Cassandra climb the stairs to the battlements. "You alright?"

"I'm fine." She said, before taking a chug off the bottle, emptying it. "If there's nothing I can do for you...I could use some time alone."

Varric opened the Uager and sat down next to her. He took a pull from it before placing it on the ground between them. "You are clearly not fine. And neither is he. Would you like to talk about it?"

She sighed heavily, and reached for the Uager, grimacing as she took a big sip. "He thinks I'm a whore. I asked him if I should send him a bill." 

"Ouch."

"And he thought I slept with Gaspard to get Rainier out of jail."

Varric didn't know what to say, for once.

"And, oh yeah, no one told me he's Claira's father. So I'm a whore, but, so was Mira, and I don't understand? What reason I have given him not to trust me?" Her voice shrank to a whimper. "And then I hit him."

"Did you....do you love him?" Varric asked.

"I think maybe I was starting to. Now...." She took another pull off the bottle. "This is quite difficult to swallow."

"You've been drinking it all your life," he attempted, "and you seem to be doing fine."

She shook her head, exhaling out her nose ruefully. "You know what I mean."

"Andraste's tits, so many jokes." He reached over and patted her hand. "Hey. If you're distributing bills, you can send me one."

That actually got a laugh, disguised as an imitation Pentaghast snort. Varric rolled his eyes playfully. "Don't do that, please. It's weird as shit."

"How?"

"Maker take me if I'm not starting to think its sexy when she does it. You doing it adds a whole level of awkward." He shrugged and drank again. 

She started laughing in earnest, poking him in the ribs and making the occasional "Ugh!" while Varric defended himself, grabbing her hands and pulling them out to her sides. Her mark popped once, and he yelped, startled, and released her. "What was that?" He asked, shaking his hand out from the shock.

"I'm not sure. It doesn't hurt anyone else when it does that. Sorry." She looked down at her palm, and decided she was not in any way prepared to have a serious conversation with him, too. "Sometimes I think I should have burned Roderick's letter. Someone else would be Inquisitor, Ostwick would stand, mother would be alive. Luther. Ingrid."

She sadly picked up her instrument again, and then leaned back against the shut glass door. Varric did the same, closing his eyes and drinking occasionally while she played and sang.

_when you kiss me heaven sighs_  
_and though I close my eyes_  
_I see la vie en rose_

"Oh, please, Maker, don't stop, don't ever stop...." Leliana sighed into Rainier's shoulder as he thundered into her. He had her pinned against the door of her quarters for the second time in twenty minutes, and her slim thighs wrapped around his waist as he went on and on and on inside her, wave after neverending wave of bliss. He reared back to look at her, his blue eyes piercing into hers with each thrust. 

"This, Maker, Leliana. This is how I want you to remember." He pulled her away from the door and walked her over to the bed, dropping her on it before clambering on top of her and slipping back inside with ease. "This, just like this." He slowed down, pulling her hips closer to his. Her moans spurred him on, and she tightened underneath him, gasping out a climax that tensed her whole body, dragging him down and down into his own release. He let his head fall to her chest, and they breathed in unison as they relaxed together.

"I don't want to think about it being the last time," she said after a few minutes.

"So don't." His lips grazed her collarbone. "Don't think about it."

"We are lucky to have even this." Leliana let her hand trail down to his stomach as he rolled off her and pulled her into his embrace. He lay on his back, and she wrapped her leg around him, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"We are." He sighed and tightened his arms around her. "I'm alive. It's...not what I expected."

_il est entre dans mon coeur_  
_une parte de bonheur  
_ _dont je connais la cause_

Varric was long gone, having left the bottle, and Irgaine was drunk as a fucking lord, she supposed. She'd been playing, randomly, quietly, for at least an hour since he'd left, and the first tendrils of dawn graced the inky dark sky. A small group of people gathered in the not-so-dark, outside the stables where Dennet was marching out Rainier's horse, a withered grey Courser, not one of the new ones but an old mare the horse master was willing to part with. Sera appeared _(his friend)_ , out of the tavern, strode to her dracolisk, and mounted. Scout Harding followed _(he'd saved her from the surge of darkspawn at camp on the Coast)_ , and then the trusty dwarf, with Bianca on his shoulder. _(Respect. He's no less Hero to Varric.)_ Dorian came out of the tavern and mounted up, _(someone has to put up the barriers, my dear)_ and Dennet led out the draught horses to attach them to the wagon of slaver prisoners. Hawke stood at the head of Varric's pony, holding the reins to hand off. Irgaine watched from her perch above, where no one could notice her while she laid on her stomach, with her chin on her forearm, watching the proceedings. She lazily rolled over, feeling the weight of liquor in her belly, but kept even her upside-down eyes on the door from the kitchens, waiting for Rainier to appear.

Wind whistled about her ears, and silence held thickness around her, even as the door seemed to open in the slowest of time. Maybe it was her imagination, maybe it was the Uager, but it seemed that Leliana appeared a quarter inch at a go, leading Captain Rainier _(Ser Blackwall)_ through honey down the stairs and to his mount. He was slow into the saddle, after taking Leliana into his arms and pulling her close, maybe memorizing her scent, savoring his last moments with her. He looked down at her after he got into the saddle and said something; she clutched his leg once, before letting it go, and striding to the controls of the gates to the keep.

Leliana pulled on a lever, and the gate began to grind open, the crunching of the mechanism in the walls reverbating over the yard. Sera led the departing party out, followed by Dorian, Harding, and Varric. Dennet himself drove the prisoners' wagon before the captain's mount. Rainier leaned down, and pressed a kiss to the top of the Nightingale's head, before digging his heels into the old Courser's ribs and following the group out of the gate.

Irgaine stood up, watched and waited while he slowly rode at the back of the party. When he turned his horse around for one last look at Skyhold, Irgaine drunkenly threw her left hand into the air, releasing a great burst of fade energy from the Anchor into a fountain of cold green sparks above her head. Blackwall unsheathed his sword and held it aloft in a final salute, then turned around and cantered down the slope of the mountainside.

She picked up her instrument again as his figure drifted off onto the distance, smaller and smaller.

_and when you speak angels sing from above_  
_everyday words seem to turn into love songs_  
_give your heart and soul to me and life will always be  
_ _la vie en rose_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god I'm so sorry about this. I was a hot mess at 4am last night while I finished it.
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic, my first since Buffy was on the air, was inspired by NicePumpkinSpice's head canon that Cass is The Randy Dowager. I hope I you have enjoyed it. I will admit that it has taken on a life of its own, because now I've let the characters in my brain and they won't shut up.  
> Siren's Call used to be the name of a zone in the now-closed MMO City of Heroes. Hot damn I miss that game.  
> gratitude to Pumpkin and also Saphir. Because reasons.  
> Also, to give you a better idea of the music, I made a YouTube playlist. Find it here:  
> [Naughty Dowager Playlist](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLGHVXM57sfQvnkfoE50dIa_R0EsfhyQfC)
> 
> Dragon Age, and its settings and characters are owned by EA/Bioware. I'm just playing in their sandbox.


End file.
